


Logan; or, A Modern Fairy Tale

by Willowanderer



Series: Monstrous Roommates [16]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Bad Science, Chronic Pain, Dee got to be a bigger character than I thought, Drinking, Drug Use, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mad Science, Medical Details, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Science Fiction, Search and Rescue, So many ocs guys, Unaccompanied Minors, Verbal Abuse, Werewolves, bad medical details, historical setting, house fire, semi historical setting, some underage smooching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowanderer/pseuds/Willowanderer
Summary: The story of an unorthodox science experimentoh, and werewolves.
Relationships: Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: Monstrous Roommates [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1470683
Comments: 85
Kudos: 235





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is guys, the first in the backstories of our boys, hitting two at once.

They were doing a project about the receding ice. Patton didn’t know how anyone could just ignore that climate change was real. Especially grown men, who presumably went to college and knew better, when a bunch of middle schoolers could track what was going on like high tide marks. The loud, enthusiastic agreements among the group were probably what led to the leader, Mr. Aluet suggesting that they each take a different quadrant of the new area. To better observe wildlife as well as record the measurements of ice. 

Technically, they weren’t really Cub Scouts, but they liked the name better, being largely made of werewolves and their siblings, and also mixed boys and girls. And Sam, who’d declared that gender was stupid shortly before their tenth birthday. So they called themselves Cub Scouts and did scouting with a twist that other packs wouldn’t understand but would be jealous of. Free ranging over a ten mile fan of tundra was one of those things. 

Patton was roaming along his route, picking up occasional litter as he went, enjoying the crisp smell of the air. He followed the map, noting down markings and taking measurements. As he continued, his eyes skimmed over something, then whipped back.

It was a body, lying in the crusty remnants of snow as though it had collapsed, pressed against the back of the shallow cliff. He wore an old fashioned wool coat and a scarf, but no gloves or hat. Long, tangled black hair obscured part of his face. Patton moved closer, and gave a sniff, sneezing and changing forms. It didn’t smell like a corpse, even a frozen one. He knew what those smelled like. This would hardly be the first lost tourist Patton or his friends had found. The body smelled of ozone, faintly, and ice, but it smelled alive. But so cold. Gently he pawed at the ice and snow around the body, careful not to touch it too much. Thoughtlessly, he licked a hand, and there was a tremble. Yes, whoever this was was definitely alive, at least a little. Patton changed back to his human form, and pulled out his cell phone, frowning at it. 

“Why did I think I would have service?” the boy chided himself. He shifted again, and howled, which his troupe mates would be listening for. It was the pattern for ‘meet up with me.’ That done he resumed his careful digging of the packed snow and ice from around the body. He heard a howl in return. They were coming. Then he curled up on the not-corpse’s chest, fluffing his fur out over as much as possible. If he was still alive, he’d need to be warmed up. It seemed to be working as he felt breath disturb his fur slightly. 

It wasn’t too long before the others started arriving, starting with Sam and Hanson.

“Uh, not that I’m dissing your skills or anything, Pat, but are you sure that’s not a corpse?” Sam asked, wrinkling their nose at the body that Patton was pretty much sitting on. 

“Yes I’m sure.” Patton huffed. “Smell him, Sam. This is not a dead guy- he’s just really cold and weak.” 

Sam huffed and changed forms, sniffling at the body.

“Holy shit, Pat’s right, he’s alive!” 

“This snow is old though. Did he lie down in a snow drift on purpose?” Hanson asked. Despite that, he dug an emergency blanket out of his pack. “Let’s see if we can dig him out and get him on this. Patton keep up with the body heat for now until everyone else gets here.” 

“Can do!” 

* * *

The last thing he’d remembered before closing his eyes was the stars. The storm had ended, leaving his prone body frozen to the ground, but above him the sky was a shimmering vault. It felt like he could fall into it. Just drift away until there was nothing. Glimmering silver points as far as he could see. He blinked, slowly, and the ice froze his eyelashes to his cheeks. Then nothing. 

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Something touched his hand. It was warm. It was no good. There was nothing, and then there was an ache. And cold. It hurt to breathe, but the air he was breathing was warm. There were voices but they didn’t make sense. His eyes didn’t want to open. He let them stay shut, remembering the stars. But he kept breathing. 

* * *

There was snow crusted in every woolen layer of the man’s clothes. It took all of them to shift him onto the reflective blanket, and they got as much loose as possible. 

“Do you think we should call for an airlift?” 

“Have we found any id?” 

“Found some papers, but no wallet.” 

“Geez I think we found a lost shakespearean actor, look at this handwriting.” 

There was a groan, and a cough. Patton shifted his paws to take a little weight off the man’s chest so he’d be able to breathe easier and the others shifted closer on the sides.

* * *

There had been nothing before. 

_He could remember the first time he woke up. Darkness. And then light. A great gonging noise that went on and on until it faded. The first face he saw. A hand moving back and forth, which he tracked with his eyes, head aching. He had thought that was all the world was, the echoey ache and pain where the light hit his eyes. Slowly there were sounds other than that. He wanted them to make sense. He wanted the shapes that were moving, the face that produced the sounds to make sense. He kept following them, as they rose and fell in volume. His fingers twitched as things touched them. His leg kicked as it was prodded._

_“Alive…”_

* * *

“No, Patton was right, he’s definitely alive.” Mr. Aluet said. Gently, he lifted an arm and pushed back the sleeve, taking a pulse. “Hrm.”

“What is it?” 

He ruffled his hair, the way he always did when he was thinking. 

“Alive yes, but I don’t know if he’s human.” 

“Is he a werewolf?” Hanson asked. 

“Nah, we’d _know_ if he was a werewolf.” Sam said. “I’d bet he’s something exotic, like a selkie!”

“If he was a selkie, he’d have a skincoat, wouldn’t he?” 

“Well maybe that’s why he won’t wake up.”

“Kiddos, you need to chill.” Mr. Aluet laughed. “C’mon be the great young people I know you are.”

“What are we going to do then?” Patton asked. 

“We’re going to keep up first aid, and bring him back with us for now. Dr. Weskie can have a look at him.”

“Hear that?” Patton said to the body. “We’re gonna take care of you, buddy!” 

“He can’t hear you, Patton.” Jules said, exasperated but amused. She was the oldest out of them, and kind of just fighting growing up. 

“You don’t know that! He could! It could be like a coma.” 

* * *

_He liked the sounds. Some were crisp, some were soft. They came in all lengths and rhythms. Sounds. He made sounds when he breathed. They changed when his mouth moved. When he moved. There were pale draperies all around him, hanging down, similar, but not the same to the ones that covered him._

_“I.” the sound was repeated a lot. A short sound. “Think.” a longer sound, scraping teeth and tounge, using his whole mouth. A good sound. “No.” Another short sound, repeated a lot. The sounds beyond the white stopped. The draperies that surround him moved, and he turned towards the movement. The face again. The one that had been there at the first. When there had been nothing but pain._

_“What!?”_

_“What.”_

_“You speak.” those were good noises. The way they were said sounded good. Good was warm, a lift. More sounds poured from the face, and he focused on it, repeating noises._

_“Blast!” The way that noise was said was not a good sound. It was harsh. Appealing in its own way, but not good. A sound like pain. “I have created an infant! How foolish of me to think that a birth would not start out that way.” Bright eyes caught his, and he reached out to touch the face, finding it too far to reach. “I suppose then I am your father.”_

_“Father.” What sort of sound was that? He wasn’t sure yet._

* * *

As soon as they’d had service, Patton had called home. He’d needed fingers for that, but he was still lying protectively next to his foundling- Hanson had jokingly called the body that, and it had stuck- in the back of the stationwagon. He was explaining what had happened to his father, when a noise caught his attention. 

“Wait a moment, Papa-” He listened, past the others in the seats and the sounds of the car. A heavy labored breath, and… mumbled words. 

“Nothing… cold… I speak. I live. I think. No...” 

“Are you awake sir?” Patton asked excitedly. His foundling coughed but didn’t respond, suddenly kicking into shivers. “I have to go Paw-Pa, gonna drop my thumbs.” Resuming his wolven form, he cuddled close, and felt fingers flex into his fur, escaping the wrap of the blanket they’d covered him in. “It’s okay.” he said soothingly. “We’ve got you. You’ll be okay now. Just hold on. We’ll help you. I’ll help you.” 

* * *

_With direct feedback, he learned the sounds were words, and words had meanings. Eagerly he drank in this new information until falling asleep without warning. Perhaps not without warning, but without any experience knowing what the symptoms meant, he had none. The next time he saw ‘Father’ he tried to stand as the other did. Somehow he was surprised that he could look down on him, as ‘Father’ had looked down while he lay on the table. Words were good. With words he could ask questions and questions had him learning new words. He decided he liked words. After words came numbers, and numbers led to letters- marks that made sounds silently. By the end of the week he could read, and speak almost as well as his Father. He started listening to the noises that happened outside the room. As reading suggested there were more people than himself and his Father. At the end of the week, his Father seemed pleased with his progress, if baffled, and opened a second room for exploration, gifting him with clothes like his. Pants, stockings, a shirt, vest,and neck cloth. No shoes, but he hardly needed them for the three rooms he moved between. He had learned so much. Words, and numbers and written words- he broke pens when he tried to write, nibs and handles alike, but he could read, and write on the slate with a small piece of chalk, not big enough to snap. He had discovered he was much stronger than his Father, and wondered why. Father had no difficulty not breaking things, while many cups had met their end while he tried to not drop them. Self care, eating, sleeping, keeping himself neat. Retreat to the back room if anyone else came near. Study the devices there, quietly, silently._

_He was a secret. He wasn’t ready to meet the world._

* * *

The world was soft and warm. Unconsciously, he rubbed his hands against the sheets that covered him, taking stock of himself before opening his eyes. He was warm, he was dry. There were lights beyond his eyelids, and someone talking in the distance. Several someones. His skin felt clean, something he’d despaired of ever really feeling again. There was a faint pleasant smell. He stretched his muscles slowly, gently. Neck, shoulders, arms, back, legs… when he got to his ankles he was very surprised that his legs hadn’t gone off the bed. The very soft bed. He pressed his fingers into the mattress, and felt it spring back pleasantly. He repeated the process, but stopped when he heard a door open.’

“Patton, come on.”

“I’m just checking on him!”

“You just want him to imprint on you like a nestling like you’ve imprinted on him!” 

“I just think it’s very imprint-ant that he not be alone when he wakes up. That would be super sad!”

“Your father said to leave him alone.”

“No, Papa said not to _bother_ him, that’s entirely different. Shoosh.” 

“Don’t shoosh me, I’m a doctor-”

Perhaps he should open his eyes now. But there was a doctor there. And he was clean. So it followed that someone had washed him while he was still unconscious. That they’d seen his scars. While his mind seemed to be working as it should- a vast improvement over the sporadic drifting he’d had before- he wasn’t sure if he was ready to answer questions just yet. Still, hearing, touch, scent, even the taste of his own tongue- sight was the only sense he hadn’t tested. His nose wrinkled, eyes closing harder for a moment, before opening them to a pale ceiling above him. 

“Oooh.” There was the voice, admiring. “He’s got eyes like the night sky. Pretty!” 

“He’s awake?”

He rolled his head to the side, muffled in a very soft pillow, but he met bright blue eyes, a boy in his teens. 

“Hi!” Patton chirped, and smiled at him. “Welcome back to the land of the living! I’m Patton!” 

He closed his eyes again, and felt dragged back down into sleep. 

* * *

_Slowly he was allowed further and further into the house. He saw maids, women who worked to keep the house clean and caught glimpses of other people. He was told to stick close to the rooms he’d started in. Now he knew they were a work room, the room he’d woken in, and still spent most of his time in that high windowed room with it’s strange devices and equipment- a lab, it was called. And a study with bookcases and books and papers on the desk. It was very disorganized, and unlike the washroom, and the bedrooms he glimpsed through open doors, the maids never entered it. The disorder bothered him somehow. It didn’t seem right. So one evening, after his Father had left, he carefully, oh so carefully, relit the lamps and put it to rights, sorting and stacking and shelving. He even took a scrap of fabric and wiped the dust from surfaces, finding excellent practice for control of his strength. Once he was satisfied, he retreated to the curtained cubicle in the lab where he rested._

_In the morning, he heard his father bellowing, demanding to know what maid had been in his study, and who had stolen his letters. He ghosted into the room, betrayed only by a faint creak of the floor. The housemaid’s eyes widened slightly, then looked back down at the floor. Normally he wouldn’t enter a room with someone other than his father in it, but in this case it seemed necessary. Besides, the maids knew he was there. His father acted as though they didn’t count as people. Odd._

_“Sir?”_

_“What?”_

_“Your attention is misdirected, sir. I was the one who cleaned the room. None of the maids did.”_

_“You WHAT?”_

_Yelling. Wonderful. That turned even good words like ‘what’ into bad words._

_“I cleaned the room. I put the books on the shelf, and dusted the shelves, and sorted the letters and papers by subject.”_

_“How dare you infringe on my privacy.”_

_“I am terribly sorry. That wasn’t my intention. If it reassures you at all, I tried not to do so while sorting.”_

_“You didn’t read my correspondence?”_

_“No, sir, just enough to sort them between personal and not.” He gestured at the piles. “As long as I must stay here, I thought perhaps I should make myself useful.”_

_“Huh.” He waved at the maid and she left the room. “Interesting. Where did you get that idea from? Still, you need to ask before you do something like that.” His father made a face. “It’s not as if you’ve shied from asking anything else.”_

_He shifted in place slightly, looking at his hands._

_“Speaking of, it appears you have one now.”_

_“Do I have a name? You have a name, sir. Harold C. Alexander. The maids have names. Ellie, Jules, Ann. Your visitors have names, I hear them. Your fiance has a name.” He stopped when his father’s eyes narrowed. Was this because there were women who came into the house that were not his fiance? Should he not speak of her? Did he not like his fiance? He spoke of her as if he did._

_“I suppose it would make sense if you did.” He considered. “Logan. Mother always did want that name back in the family.”_

_“Logan.” He repeated, then lifted his eyes, unable to help a small smile. “I did not have one before?” he asked._

_“It didn’t occur to me.”_

_“Thank you sir.” Logan said. He had a name._

* * *

When his eyes opened again, Patton was not there. He stared at the lamp on the bedside table, wondering if it was some sort of gas lamp, or if the oil reservoir was in the ceramic base. It gave off a strong, steady light. Extracting his arm from the blanket, he shakily reached out, holding his fingers less than an inch from the shade, wondering at the lack of heat it gave off. The door opened, and he let his arm fall back to the bed, this time on top of the covers. The duvet was as soft as the sheets. 

“That’s a good sign.” A black man in a white shirt and vest had entered the room. He politely turned his focus to him, though sitting felt like it would be beyond him at the moment. “I’m very impressed, young man. You seem to have been through a lot, but you’re already aware. And I gather, you can understand me?” 

He tried to speak and coughed instead. His mouth felt very dry. He nodded instead. 

“Wonderful. I’m Dr. Emmet Weskie.” 

He tried to speak again, and choked out. 

“Logan.” 

There was a giggle from the direction of the door, and Dr. Weskie turned. “I heard that. You’re supposed to be in bed, both of you.”

“You’re not my father-” drawled an unseen speaker. 

“Shh!” 

“You’re the one who giggled about giant Wolverine, Pat.” 

“Excuse me one moment.” Dr. Weskie moved towards the door, and Logan could hear scrabbling feet. Clearly whoever had been in the doorway left, and the doctor closed the door. He returned to the bedside, and took a seat, picking up Logan’s arm and checking his pulse against … was that a watch strapped to his wrist? Fascinating. “You’ll have to forgive Patton- he’s really looking forward to meeting you. It’s all we can do to keep him away.” 

Logan licked his lips and worked his throat, swallowing a few times. 

“I’m going to put a straw to your mouth, Logan, and I want you to take a small sip. That may help. Don’t drink too much.” The water felt oddly thick, but tasted better than it had any right to, soothing his throat immensely. 

“Thank you.” he said, eyes closed.

“Aren’t you polite.” Dr. Weskie sounded amused, pressing something cool and smooth against Logan’s temple. His eyes shifted to the side, but all he could see was a vague grey shape. After a moment there was a noise, and it was taken away. “Track my finger please.” the digit moved back and forth, and Logan did so. “Good. Do you think you can answer a few questions?” 

“I will do my best.” 

“Very good.” He pulled back the blankets, and Logan did his best not to flinch as he pressed another device- some sort of stethoscope, he believed, to Logan’s chest, moving it around. “You said your name is Logan, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Logan do you know where you are?”

“... No.”

“Do you know where you were going?”

“British Colombia. But I am aware I was off route significantly.”

“I see.” Dr. Weskie’s voice was low and soothing. “How old are you, Logan?” 

Logan tried to calculate this. He wondered how honest he should be. “Twenty-five?” 

“You sound unsure.” the doctor pulled the blanket back over Logan’s bare chest. 

“I apologize.”

“It’s fine. Another small sip please, I’d like to listen to you swallow?” the straw was back, and Logan obliged, it felt very much like a reward. “Good. You’ve responding well to my touch, so I think we don’t have to worry about too much nerve damage. You seem to be in surprisingly good health.” Logan wasn’t sure how he felt about the use of the word ‘surprisingly’ there. “Now then, one last question for now- What year is it?”

“The year of our lord, eighteen sixty seven.” he responded without thinking. He could hear the scrape of the chair Dr. Weskie was sitting in on the floor, as if he’d moved sharply and suddenly. 

“Could you repeat that please?”

Logan swallowed, wondering how that could be the wrong answer.

“The year of our lord, eighteen hundred and sixty seven.” 

“I see.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, trigger warning. 
> 
> I didn't intend to but there are some intensely uncomfortable child abuse vibes going on here during the flashbacks. 
> 
> The more I write about Logan's 'Father' the worse he seems to get.

The year, it appeared, was actually 2003. 

The way it was put forth was too frank and simple for it to be some kind of joke at his expense, and besides, what would that accomplish? Little things added up, and any question he had was answered. Logan didn’t always understand the answers, but Dr. Weskie was more than willing to spend the rest of the night doing so. Fortunately for both of them, Logan tired after a while, despite his long ‘sleep’. He’d drunk more of that strangely thick water, and Dr. Weskie promised in the morning there would be food, since he’d shown no signs of rejecting the water. The lamp shut off with a touch and Logan tried to make himself comfortable. Even though he was tired, so tired that it pulled him down like dark water, there was just so much to think about. What if he closed his eyes, and couldn’t open them again? Or closed them and woke up another century in the future. He did mental math- that was still easy. 

A hundred and thirty seven years. 

Over a century and a quarter.

Lost. 

And he was alive. His father, wherever he was, certainly was _not_. Logan wondered if he’d be able to track down what happened to him. He wondered what was going to happen to him now.

He stared into the darkness and he missed the stars.

Then he slept. 

* * *

_He was not allowed down the stairs, but he was allowed up the stairs, into the servant's quarters, and attics. Mostly the attics. The maids still would hide when he approached, no matter how quietly he did. If he got close enough to speak with them without them noticing, they would suddenly remember something they had to do elsewhere in the house, often downstairs. Ellie, perhaps the boldest, had shut a door in his face when he had started to open it, telling him that it wasn’t done for someone to enter another person’s room._

_Logan didn’t understand. People entered his room. Perhaps the lab wasn’t his room? It was the room he slept in. That sparked further questions; why did he sleep in the lab, in a wing where there were no rooms like the servants quarters, or the guest rooms? Rooms with beds and furnishings. Where he slept was nothing like the beds in the other rooms. Which despite Ellie’s admonishment, he entered when no one was in them. Only one of them seemed continually occupied, and since there was further correspondence addressed to his father, clearly that room belonged to him. Occasionally his father’s guests would stay in the other bedrooms. For a week or more, even. Why didn’t he stay in a room like that? Why did he sleep in the lab, on a table? It was a table, blanket and pillow aside. It was hard. The beds were soft, like the pillow, only more so. What made him different? Logan asked himself that question a great deal, especially on days when his father did not come to the lab or study._

_Having recently mastered the careful use of a pencil, he counted days backwards. It got a little blurry towards the end, so he ended up actually reading some of the notes in the lab to get exact dates. Logan wasn’t reading his father’s correspondence in doing that; it was fine. It must be._

_One hundred and six days. His counting had only been three off. Four if one counted the day of pain. Less than four months. Less than a quarter of a year. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he did not know enough yet. Perhaps he wasn’t a person yet. His father had called him an infant when he had first spoken, so despite his rapid acquiring of knowledge, and stature, he was still a child. Children had different rules, as far as he had gathered. And they certainly took longer than one hundred and seven days to become adults. Perhaps then he could learn to be more like his father, and be more like other men._

* * *

How Logan had missed the window when he’d woken the night before he wasn’t sure, but even through the curtains, the morning light shone into the room. But he woke up and it was morning, and the morning that matched the night he’d gone to sleep. So his worries of the night before had been groundless. Shuffling about, he managed to press himself into a sitting position as Dr. Weskie entered the room. 

“Amazing.” the doctor shook his head. “That being said, you should treat yourself with more caution. You’ve been through a lot and you’ll need time to build up your strength.” 

“I appreciate the concern, sir,” Logan said. “But I’ve always been exceptionally hardy and I wouldn’t want to impose longer than I have to.”

“Please don’t worry about that.” Dr. Weskie told him. “We’re more than happy to help.” 

“Who is we, if you don’t mind? Is this your home?”

“Oh no, this is the Hart’s home.” he smiled. “Now then I have something for you to try eating, then I’m going to check your vitals again.” 

Logan’s stomach, as if hearing the promise, made itself known. 

“I should express my gratitude to the Harts, then.”

“What a coincidence.” Dr. Weskie laughed. “You can come in, he is awake.” 

It was the same boy as before, his hair was a mass of fluffy light brown curls, and bright blue eyes behind thick glasses frames. He carried a bit of fat, but had the gangly unfinished look of someone who still had growing to do. Unlike Dr. Weskie, he was dressed in a very unfamiliar fashion, wearing a boat-necked shirt like an undershirt, but with the thickness of a sweater. There was a painting of a cat’s face on it, as though it were part of a fancy-dress costume. He was carrying a tray with legs, which he was plainly putting effort into doing so neatly. Once it was balanced across Logan’s lap, he bounced on his toes. 

“I’m Patton!” the boy said cheerfully. “I’m so glad you’re okay!” 

“I remember.” Logan said. “You were here before.”

“You remember me!” Patton’s smile lit his face up. How could he put that much energy into just smiling? 

“Yes.” 

“Patton is the one who found you, and the eldest Hart child.” 

“That’s me!” he confirmed. “And I want you to know that you’re welcome in our home! We like helping people. Oh! But you should eat! It’s just cream of rice, since Dr. Weskie said it’s been a while since you’ve eaten, so you should go slow.” He didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving now that he’d been invited in; but there was hardly any harm in it at this point. The boy had seen his body, scars and all. Neither of them had commented yet, however. Logan was sure it was coming. He picked up the spoon from the tray and tried to eat with as much manners as he possessed. It was somewhat awkward to do so while being watched. It was warm, and while mild in flavor, it was better than anything he’d eaten recently. Logan had read about the effects of food after long privation, and ate as slowly as he could, to give his stomach more time to adjust. He could tell, despite the orders of mild light food, it had been made with milk and butter, and it was very soothing. Setting down the spoon he picked up the ceramic mug that the tray also held, and slowly drank the warm sweet tea. It was nice enough that his eyes closed briefly in pleasure, only to open again when Dr. Weskie laughed. 

“You certainly _are_ a hardy fellow.” He picked a bottle off the tray and moved it to the bedside table. Logan turned and watched him do it, curious at the noise the bottle made. “Alright, Patton, you’ve gotten a chance to meet him, off with you.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Patton implored. 

“I have to check him over, Patton.” 

Logan finished the tea, confused at the easy familiar way Patton spoke to the Doctor. He set the now empty mug down. While it seemed odd, it was hardly his place to question. Perhaps this was just the way people talked now. Seeing Logan was done with the food, Patton grinned again. 

“I can bring you more in a bit! It would be a waste to let you _waste_ away!” Patton’s enthusiasm was exhausting, but not unpleasant. 

“If I have not yet, I am unlikely to.” Logan assured him. Patton blinked tipping his head to the side. 

“Uh, okay.” He picked up the tray. “I’ll see you later, then.” With one last smile, Patton disappeared out the door. 

After Patton left, Dr. Weskie checked Logan’s vitals, and asked him questions about how he was feeling. He even got him to his feet, and with minimal support, walked him to an attached bathroom. Logan accepted the explanation of the furnishings, even the privy, which once he was seated safely Dr. Weskie stepped outside the room while he used, a privacy Logan had not been expecting, since the doctor was clearly concerned about the possibility of Logan falling. An unfounded one, since Logan was swiftly regaining use of his body and his strength. He wondered when this would become a problem. Well hopefully he would be provided clothing soon, and that would be a start. In the meantime, he could convelese in bed. 

Once he was back under the blankets, if sitting up against the headboard, he inspected the clear bottle on the bed stand. More water, excellent. The sides moved under his fingers and he paused, letting go. It was unharmed, and there was that strange noise again. He glared at it suspiciously. What was wrong with a glass, anyway? More importantly, what was wrong with the glass of the bottle? 

“It’s plastic.” Dr. Weskie said quietly. 

Logan looked back at the doctor. Had he spoken out loud? “Plastic.”

“It’s a sturdy, synthetic material. I think it only became common in the early twentieth century. Don’t worry too much about it, it’ll make noise when you handle it, but you’d have to put effort into breaking it. The cap screws off, towards the left.” 

Logan picked up the bottle and inspected it before opening it carefully. He squeezed the lid gently between his thumb and forefinger.

“Also plastic?” he asked.

“It’s everywhere.” 

He took a sip. 

“You don’t believe me.” Logan said flatly.

“I’ll be fair, Logan, I don’t _not_ believe you.” 

Logan nodded. 

“It is fairly unbelievable for me as well, but I have more supporting evidence. Even just what I’ve seen is unlike what I remember, and it is… significantly unlikely that the difference is merely that between Canada and Britain.” 

“You’re actually in America.”

“Yes, that is the name of the continent- oh you mean the _United States_ of America.” 

“Alaska, to be precise.” 

“What precisely are the consequences of you not believing me?” Logan asked, taking another sip of water. 

“Well that’s the thing.” Dr. Weskie tapped his fingers on his knee. “There isn’t any reason for you to lie about it.”

“I can think of several, an attempt to take advantage of you and the Hart household, some sort of insurance scam, and an attempt to erase an old identity…”

The doctor laughed and shook his head. “And are you doing any of those?”

“... well the last was something of my original intention when I set out.” 

“You’re an honest man, Logan, and that’s admirable. Everything you had with you seems to corroborate your story. So, I’d like you to keep being honest with me. What makes you capable of sleeping through a century in a snowbank?”

“I was on an ice flow-” Logan corrected “I don’t know where you found me.”

“Please answer the question.” 

Logan licked his lips. 

“That’s a … complicated question.”

* * *

_He didn’t read the correspondence on the desk, but he did read the notes in the lab. There were anatomical sketches and theories, some of which had required using the reference material in the study. Which Logan had not been forbidden to read. In fact the only thing he was barred from was his father’s personal letters. So he read everything but that. He couldn’t seem to understand what appeared to be a dissertation on the reanimation of dead tissue, there seemed to be gaps in the theory put forth. The essays on revivification after drowning made more sense, though he couldn’t make sense of some of the methods suggested for restarting the heart and lungs. He compared them with the anatomical sketches, and medical books. Logan tried his best to stay quiet when his father came into the study. As usual, he would spend time studying Logan, though he rarely asked questions of him any more. There was a certain level of frustration, Logan thought. Whatever answers he gave, they were the wrong ones. Somehow he had to find the right ones. He found himself staring at his father as he worked at his desk. Suddenly the man looked up at him, too suddenly for Logan to pretend to have not been doing that- not that it occurred to him._

_“Was there something you wanted?”_

_Logan hesitated._

_“If I could have access to more books, sir?”_

_“What?”_

_”I’ve read all of yours.”_

_“That’s not possible.”_

_“Your shelves contain two hundred and thirty six books the majority of which are reference, divided between scientific theory, medical theory, and some chemistry theory, three apear to be primitive chemisty, called alchemy, ten of which are poetry, and one of which is pornography and perhaps should be kept somewhere else. There are four dictionaries, one of English, one English-to-Latin, one English to French, and one English-to-German.” He looked down at the book his hands were folded over. It was poetry. “Perhaps…?”_

_“What?”_

_“If you… if you were to stay and discuss them with me?” he asked hopefully. His father was gone for days. The maids shied away from him. Even after he had learned their names. The word was lonely, the thought. The feeling of being alone._

_“That’s not possible.” His father repeated._

_“Why not?” it burst out of him without waiting for permission, full of the loneliness he’d been trying to hold in._

_“Control your tone.”_

_Logan made an uncertain noise, withdrawing back into the chair he was seated in._

_“I’m a busy man, Logan. I have things to finish. I don’t have time for your questions.”_

_“When- when will you?” his chest hurt, and it made his brain move slowly, making the words not line up properly._

_“I don’t know.” He capped his inkwell, and started to gather up his work. “I’m going to work somewhere else, so I may continue uninterrupted.” Logan lunged to his feet._

_“P- Please sir, don’t disturb yourself, I’ll go. I do not wish to be a trouble to you.” It was still hard to speak._

_“Good.” The dismissive tone made the hurt in his chest burn. It hadn’t been a rude question, or even that much to ask, had it? What had it hurt? He went into the lab, and further into the curtained alcove he slept in. The sight of the table made the pain boil over and before he could stop himself he lifted it up and threw it against the wall in a single gesture. The crash it made was so satisfying he wanted to do it again, and again. He bit down on any words and a frustrated noise halfway between a groan and a growl escaped between his teeth._

_Why couldn’t he say the right thing?_

_Explain the right way?_

_Give the right answer?_

_What was wrong with him!?_

_Logan sat down on the floor and stared at the toppled wreckage of his bed._

_What was wrong with him?_

* * *

_He’d repaired the damage to the table and curtains as best he could- even begging a sewing kit- and then lessons in using it- from one of the maids, desperate to erase the signs of his tantrum. Ellie was the bravest when faced with him, and it amused her, she said to see him sewing. He wasn’t sure why, but was thankful anyway. She was still cautious, but seemed to be warming to him. That was good. He liked the way she made her words. They sounded different from his father’s but something about them was the same, as well. He was glad that he had repaired the damage when his father suddenly came into the lab. He swept his eyes over Logan taking in his appearance. Logan strove to make it as tidy as possible, with the limitations he had._

_“Come with me.” he ordered. Logan followed obediently, only pausing a moment as his father led him to, and then down the main staircase. He hadn’t been allowed downstairs before. What rooms were down there? What were their purposes? He tried not to swing his head too visibly as his father led him into a room with a long table. Several men and a few women were seated at it, and at the head was an empty seat with a discarded napkin beside it. Logan recognized two of the men as previous guests of his father’s but not the others._

_“And here is your proof.”_

_“My God Harold!” cried one of the unfamiliar men. One of the women hid her mouth behind a hand and leaned over to whisper to one of the other women. Both of their shoulders shook in laughter. Logan wondered why. Their hair was very nice. He wondered if the maid’s hair looked like that under their caps. He did not ask. Instead he stood politely silent, observing._

_“I don’t see why you couldn’t believe me when I corroborated.” Sniffed the friend who had visited the most, Edmund Tern. He’d actually spoken to Logan, though he tended to use small words, and hadn’t the last time he’d seen him._

_“I’m not sure I’d call this proof.” Scoffed another. “Just a very tall man.”_

_“I could get more in depth, but it would scandalize the ladies.” his father snorted, resuming the empty seat._

_“I don’t think you could scandalize my friends, Harold.” The woman who was seated next to him said. The other two women laughed together again, glancing over at Logan._

_“Elisabeth, please.”_

_Ah, this must be his fiancee. Logan had never seen her before. His attention turned to her. Feeling the regard, she flicked green eyes in his direction for a moment, before looking away, flushed. Logan blinked mildly wondering what had brought that on. Perhaps she didn’t like being stared at. She had a pleasing enough face, she must have gotten stared at quite often. Very symmetrical. Really the other women whom his father had taken as visitors were not as good looking. Objectively. Logan compared that to the dim idea he had of what he looked like. He was not good looking._

_“What would you accept as proof, Scofeild?” demanded his father._

_“Good sense!” retorted the other man. “If doctors couldn’t accomplish something like that, why would you be able to?”_

_“Really, do you think they’ve tried?”_

_“You there.”_

_Logan started, he was being addressed, and he turned his attention to the last guest he had not met._

_“What’s your name? Where did you come from?”_

_He glanced at his father before answering._

_“My name is Logan. I came from upstairs.”_

_There was laughter. Why? Logan glanced around the room uncertainly, before his attention was pulled by another question._

_“No, where did Harold find you?”_

_“Sir did not find me. He made me, as I understand.” He’d been told to answer questions politely and succinctly. And to not ramble._

_“As you understand?”_

_“I do not remember the process.” curiously he added “Do you remember being born?”_

_His father cleared his throat and tapped a finger against the table sharply._

_“Apologies.” Logan said without real emotion. He clasped his hands together and waited._

_“I suppose it’s true that if people could be brought back from the dead, the doctors would be out of business.” Edmund joked._

_“I don’t know if this could be called that, given what Alexander’s said. After all he’s hardly a returned dead man. It’s not resurrection. It’s… re-purposing, like a turn-seamed-garment.” That was Henry Chasen. Doctor Henry Chasen, the oldest of his fathers friends, and very proud of his newly signed doctor’s certificate. Friend might be too strong a word. Logan did not think his father liked him much, given what he said about him when Doctor Chasen was not present. He was also the one who had examined Logan the most, after his father. He’d never said much before, however, at least in Logan’s hearing._

_“Very like, I suppose.” his father said, and focused on Logan. “Take your shirt off.”_

_Trying to repress a sigh, Logan immediately began unpicking his neck cloth from the tidy knot. The women were giggling again. The maids didn’t giggle like that. He unbuttoned his shirt, focusing on the simple task, and barely listening to the back and forth of annoyance and embarrassment that was happening between the other occupants of the room. Scofeild even tried to send the women from the room. Surely they’d seen a man’s chest before. It was the scars, he was given to understand, that were unusual. Certainly his father didn’t have ones like them. Logan folded his shirt and neck cloth over his arm and waited for further instruction._

_“God, man.” whispered Scofeild, eyes raking across the scars that covered Logan’s body. “How are you alive?”_

_The laugh his father gave was not a good sound, Logan decided._

* * *

Dr. Weskie sat back in his chair, and Logan twisted the now-empty bottle in his hands, listening to the crackle and pop of the plastic. It reminded him a little of ice, but it wasn’t a bad sound. The repetitive motion was soothing. 

“That is… a lot.” Dr. Weskie said at last. “That certainly would be something that made you different, so for now, we’re going to assume that’s what it was.” He looked at the watch on his wrist. “Right, let me check your vitals again- if everything seems fine, I’ll send you something else to eat, but I have to try and cram my normal office hours into the rest of the afternoon.”

“I apologize.” Logan said immediately. “I do not mean to take up your valuable time, Dr. Weskie, especially as I have nothing to repay you with.” 

“It’s fine. I’ve got a Nurse Practitioner right now, and you’re not something I can hand off.”

“I apologize.” he repeated, looking down at the bottle, and twisting it a bit too hard. The walls snapped and tore. Dr. Weskie took it out of his hands. 

“It’s alright, Logan, it’s a disposable bottle, and we’ve got a good recycling system in town.” He listened to Logan’s lungs, and stomach, and took his pulse and temperature again. “Sounds good. We need to keep an eye on your bowels, but in a couple of days you may even be off porridge.”

“That will be a relief.” Mumbled Logan without thinking. He tensed, then relaxed when Dr. Weskie gave an understanding chuckle. 

“I know you’re used to being hardy, Logan, but please treat yourself with caution for a bit;” he urged. “You’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want to see you hurt yourself.” 

Logan could only regard him with confusion, but said goodbye, before leaning back against the headboard and staring out the window, losing himself in thoughts. He should ask for a book. Perhaps a book on recent history. So much must have happened in the last hundred years! It would probably take several books, he reflected. 

“Knock knock~” a cheerful voice came outside the door. He blinked and looked at it, wondering if he should stand and open the door for whoever was on the other side. The door was nudged open before he could, and Patton came back in with the same tray as before. “Hello again! I’m sorry, but it’s more of the same; doctor’s orders.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Maybe next time you can have toast and jam too. I’d be super sad if I had to eat porridge too many meals in a row, without even fruit.”

“It’s very good porridge. Who does your cooking, your mother, a sister, a housekeeper?”

“Well, I made this,” he set the tray on the bed. “Gosh, a Housekeeper? Fancy!” he laughed. “Can I sit?” he pointed at the chair Dr. Weskie had been sitting in. 

“Please, feel free, it is your house after all. I am being rude enough;”

“No no, you’re getting better! That means food in bed and being taken care of.” He plopped himself into the chair. “But don’t worry, there’s like, five of us, plus Dee. Plenty to share the work.” 

“Dee is?”

“My cousin! They live with us, because their mother died in childbirth and she was Papa’s only sister.” Patton was friendly and open. “Oh- and my mother’s dead too, and Papa never remarried.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. I mean, I miss her, but there’s plenty of people to love in our pack anyway.” He grinned. “C’mon don’t let me keep you from eating, you must be hungry.” 

Logan was, so he ate what he’d been brought- a bigger bowl this time. It was good, but part of him agreed with Patton; he was already ready for something else. While he ate, Patton cheerfully told him about his family. He was the oldest, and he had three sisters and a brother. He was more than willing to admit that the twin sisters were only half siblings, and that didn’t bother him at all. By the time Logan had finished the bowl, Patton had started in on other people in his ‘pack’ a whirling multitude of names and unfamiliar terms. 

“Oh, Dr. Weskie said I could answer questions for you if you’d like. He thought I might be less intimidating. Is he intimidating? It’s hard to picture; he’s been the local doctor since I was like eight.” 

“I would appreciate any help I could get.” 

“Well let me put this tray away, and I’ll come right back.” Patton bounced on his toes, and the things on the tray rattled “Whoops!” he laughed. “Oh, do you like sweet things?”

“Yes?” Logan wasn’t sure where this was going as he wasn’t supposed to eat anything else. At least it was easier to admit to a child- well… it was hard to pin Patton’s age down- that he had a fondness for sweet things. 

“I’ll bring you something I’m pretty sure Dr. Weskie can’t object to!” He winked. “I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Logan barely had time to settle back before Patton had returned, bearing a bottle of something brightly colored. 

“I always get Gatorade when I’m sick, so this should be fine.” He offered the bottle. Logan took it uncertainty and peered at the label which was printed in very tiny writing. 

“Thank you?” He twisted the lid off, as he had with the water bottle and took a sip. It was sweet- sweeter than the tea had been even, but slightly bitter too. Very good though- even though it was a shade of blue he’d only previously associated with the sky. “What is this supposed to taste like?”

“Blue.” Patton nodded. 

“I see.” He paused. “... this isn’t some kind of prank is it?” he asked. It didn’t taste bad, so it probably wasn’t poisonous, but he couldn’t be too sure. Perhaps Gatorade was some kind of medicine? Patton said he got it when he was sick. If were it would be irresponsible to give it to him behind the doctor’s back. Perhaps it was more of a tonic? Logan asked. After all, Patton had offered to answer questions.

“Gee. I guess it is like a tonic.” he rubbed the tip of his nose. “It’s called a sports drink, it’s got sugar and salt and electrolytes in it to help people hydrate.” Patton couldn't explain want an electrolyte was however, just that it was supposed to be good for you. "Boy, kiddo, I hope I'll be able to answer any other questions you have. Not a great start, huh?"

"'kiddo'?" 

"I think it's a real friendly thing to call people." 

"Perhaps, but- I'm older than you."

"Well I wouldn’t mind if you called me that!"

"Why would I use a nickname when I know your proper name?" Logan blinked. "Do you not know mine? Surely Dr. Weskie told you my name?”

“Well, yeah, I heard it, but you haven’t introduced yourself, so it’s not polite to use it.” Patton smiled at him, and Logan found himself wanting to smile back. Patton was such a ball of energy. And such a silly point of etiquette to stick on, when clearly so much had changed in how manners worked. 

“In that case,” Logan extended his hand, and Patton put his own in it, grinning as it was enveloped, so he put his other hand on the back of Logan’s warmly. “My name is Logan, Patton. I still owe you thanks for finding me.” 

“It really was my pleasure! And an adventure! It sure was a new way to find a friend!” 

"A friend?"

"Yep! I mean if you'd like to be.” This smile was slightly different- shy perhaps?- but no less brilliant “Papa’s always telling me that you can be someone’s friend without their permission but you can’t be friends _with_ them without cooperation." 

“Well then to save you effort, I suppose I should be your friend.” He hadn’t had many offers of friendship, frankly. Not ones that seemed so genuine and free. They were still holding hands. 

“Great!” if anything Patton’s smile got brighter. “So, Logan, I’m here to answer your questions as best I can. I mean, I’m fourteen, so I don’t know everything, but I’ll do my best. But first I have one, if that’s okay?” 

“Certainly. That’s only fair.” 

“Can I sit on the bed with you?” 

Logan blinked. He’d been expecting a question about his scars, or a rehash of what he’d told Dr. Weskie, or even what his last name was. 

“Ah. I suppose if you want to. There’s plenty of room. It is a very big bed.”

“We like big beds in this house. Better for cuddles! And good for you, too!” Patton stood up and stretched his back out. “Time to get comfy!” 

Logan stared in shock as Patton’s form twisted and rearranged. His eyes desperately tried to catalouge what he was seeing, and couldn’t quite manage it. It was fast and it was strange. A wolf- a genuine canis lupus, perhaps juvenile but still standing two feet at the shoulder. It had brown markings similar to- but far more splotchy than a sled dog’s. It- he- leapt nimbly up onto the bed, and lay down against Logan’s side- or rather tried, as he jerked away so hard his hand came down off the other side of the large bed and he nearly fell off. 

“What in Heaven’s name!” he exclaimed. The wolf blinked ice blue eyes- the same color as Patton’s at him. 

“... I’m a werewolf?” came Patton’s voice, as the wolf’s head tipped curiously, and then with that strange twist that the eyes couldn’t quite focus on, Patton was kneeling on the bed instead. “Oh cheese and crackers!” he exclaimed. “I forgot you didn’t know!”

“How could I know?” came the strangled reply. “I did not realize they _existed_.” 

Patton offered his hand, and with effort pulled Logan back onto the bed. 

“Well, then I guess I should start there...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to come and see me on Tumblr at thebestworstidea  
> ask me questions, yell about things.  
> I crave attention.


	3. Chapter 3

Logan supposed that it wasn’t too unexpected that the world contained so many things that science classed impossible. After all, his existence aside, _he_ would be classed so by traditional science. Patton only had practical, personal information about werewolves, though what he did explain did clarify some of the things he’d said before. At Logan’s request, he related how he (and his scouting pack he insisted, though it was entirely Patton who’d done it) had found Logan and brought him back. Patton brought him books. Patton brought his Papa to talk to Logan, and Patton’s father, Hannibal, managed to convince Logan that he was more than welcome to stay with them. Hannibal, in turn could answer questions Patton couldn’t about werewolves and the town, which was named Packston, because it had been founded by a pack of werewolves. 

While it was impossible to say for sure, the assumption was that the town’s entire population were either werewolves or related to one. Logan was the biggest anomaly- and he was ‘the Hart’s Foundling’ and so no one asked. By the end of the week he was on his feet, and they’d brought him several changes of clothing, and promised to take him somewhere he could pick his own once he was more comfortable. 

Patton had firmly attached himself to Logan’s side, and had even dragged him awkwardly to school, where they sat in the back of the classroom so Logan wouldn’t disrupt anything. Frankly, he was delighted, and read the textbooks cover to cover, even though the classes didn’t handle all of it. The idea of just being able to go somewhere and being handed knowledge was delightful. Logan couldn’t imagine why his father had complained so much about university. They treated him as just a very large highschool student, and despite the fact he felt like he should act differently- he wasn’t that young, after all, even if the years he’d slept didn’t count- it was just more comfortable. Something like a childhood. An odd concept. But Hannibal, despite being welcoming, made no moves to be actively paternal to Logan. And he was to his children, including his sister’s child. Logan he more mentored, going so far as to offer the studio over the garage to him once Logan had gotten more used to modern technology. A whole mini home, just for Logan. Space he could do whatever he wanted with. A soft bed, and a selection of clothing, and books that he could rotate out in the library, paper enough to write down his thoughts. Logan didn’t decorate the space much; he found a poster of a misty forest that he found relaxing, a temperate rainforest filled with conifers, that he could stare at and lose himself in. Patton would bring potted plants in that he failed to take care of properly despite the best of his ability. He wasn’t a nurturing personality. Despite the new examples, he just didn’t know what to do. Logan wondered if it was something that could be learned with the right questions. He might not be good at caring, but he found that he was anyway. Logan wondered if he’d always cared so much, or if it was just Patton rubbing off on him with his infectious enthusiasm. 

* * *

_There were more questions, more questioning, more poking, prodding, and no one answered his questions, no one told him why his answers were wrong- but at the same time, Logan now could go anywhere in the house, having been allowed down stairs. And downstairs had held a library, which had enough books to keep even him occupied. Ellie thought it was funny. For some reason, shortly after the dinner party, she became less cautious around him. Annoyingly, she did not explain_ why _, beyond a vague look of what might have been sympathy. Still, it was good practice to have conversations. Perhaps if he spoke differently, he would ask the right questions, or have the right answers. Ellie told him about her family. It tickled in the back of his head, somehow. It was so different, her siblings, her parents, her need to take a job. Her older sister, who’d gone onto the stage which was a scandal, but was apparently doing quite well for herself. Logan followed her about some days, hoping for more stories about her family, but he was aware she had work to do. She always had work to do. Being a maid was apparently very difficult, and she wouldn’t let him so much as carry a bucket for her, even when he insisted that it would be much more efficient, since he was stronger than she was. But Ellie did tell him if she didn’t finish her duties, she’d get in trouble, so he tried to leave her alone, for the most part._

_So he was mildly concerned when he saw his father’s friend Edmund Tern stopping her from doing her work. He’d blocked her against a wall with his arms and was leaning quite close, talking quietly. Ellie looked uncomfortable. He wondered where Ann was, as they were often working together at this time of day. Edmund leaned closer, one arm coming down to cup at the back of her skirts, and Ellie turned her face away, suddenly spotting Logan. Their eyes met for a moment, and even he could tell the maid was uncomfortable._

_“Pardon me, sir.” Logan said, not sure what prompted this behavior- theirs or his. But he couldn’t walk away. “I think you should let Ellie go about her business. She has work to do.”_

_“What the hell!” Clearly, in his focus on the maid, he’d not heard Logan’s approach. Edmund just stared for a long moment, his hands still holding the maid still. “Go away. This doesn’t concern you.”_

_“I do not believe fornicating with guests is one of her duties.”_

_Ellie gave a choked noise, and shook her head slightly._

_“Oh I assure you it’s more of a perk.”_

_Logan tipped his head, confused._

_“For her? Pardon again, she does not seem excited.”_

_“It’s_ fine _, be on your way.”_

_Logan looked past him, to Ellie, whose eyes held fear._

_“I do not think it is, actually.”_

_“This is something you can’t learn from books.”_

_“On the contrary, there is a staggering amount of information available in the form of pornography. I am familiar with how it works. In theory.” he amended. “But I also think that unless both parties consent, it is not fornication. It’s rape. And Mr Tern- that’s a crime. While ethics are a delicate subject, legal matters are less so. Are you not studying to be a lawyer? That was my understanding.”_

_“You really don’t understand how the world works.” he flapped a hand, and Ellie took the opportunity to duck out of his grip, bobbing an awkward sort of curtsy before fleeing with a breathy_

_“Excuse me sirs.”_

_Logan didn’t know if he was a sir, and stared after her._

_“Now look what you’ve done.”_

_“I have not done anything, sir.” Logan protested, attention returning, and staring down at the other man. “You were doing something.”_

_He made a disgusted sound._

_“Be on your way to whatever it is you do.”_

_His father gave him another lecture about how curiosity did not give him the right to other people’s privacy. Logan had already learned that when a voice sounded like that, he was not to interject, only listen, no matter what questions he had. He didn’t see how Mr. Tern’s privacy outweighed Ellie’s but he let that lie. It made it hard to sleep, as the house quieted around him, and he lay staring up at the ceiling of the lab. Long after the house was normally quiet, he heard footsteps. Footsteps entering the lab. As the curtains around him quivered, he sat up, and met Ellie’s eyes._

_She had never entered the curtains before. She was not wearing the smooth dark brown and cream uniform he was used to. Her hair had curls, but not like his father’s Fiancee and her friends, more escaping from its tie, the way his did._

_“Did I wake you?”_

_“No.”_

_She nodded, and rubbed a dark mark on her cheek._

_“That’s something. I wanted to thank you before I left.”_

_“Where are you going?”_

_“My employment here ‘as been terminated.”_

_“Why?”_

_“For causing a disturbance with a guest.”_

_“I don’t understand.”_

_“Of course you don’t.” She laughed, but it wasn’t an unkind sound, and she smiled. Logan made a connection._

_“Was I at fault?” he asked “Was it because of what I did this afternoon?”_

_“Not really.” She sighed. “Was more what I didn’t do.”_

_“You lost your job for refusing to copulate with him?” Logan was shocked. That didn’t make sense. He was absolutely sure that fornicating was not one of her duties. At least she’d never mentioned it before._

_“Well.” Ellie sniffed. “Technically, the housekeeper sacked me for getting swived.”_

_“But you didn’t. Surely you explained?”_

_“My word against his, and well. My word isn’t much” She shrugged. “I’m t’be gone in the morning.”_

_“Thank you for telling me. I would have missed you.”_

_“Logan.” She was suddenly serious. “Come with me.”_

_“What?”_

_“I gotta go back to the city now, to get a new position. Somewhere. You could too. You’re smart. They- they ain’t nice to you here.”_

_“My father makes sure I am adequately supplied with-”_

_“He ain’t any kind of father, either.” She snapped. “Not a good one. Has he ever had a kind word for you?”_

_“Is that a necessary part of fatherhood?”_

_“It_ should _be..”_

_Logan thought of the stories of Ellie’s family._

_“Would I not disappoint my father?”_

_“You’re a person, not some sort of experiment, whatever he’s got you all twisted around like.”_

_He shook his head a little and she tried again._

_“Don’t you want to see what’s outside?”_

_He did. He’d read so much and it was clear there was just so much more._

_“Well… I suppose I could always come back.”_

_“That’s the ticket.” she sounded sad though. Logan found his shoes and retied his neckcloth, then followed Ellie down the back stair, into the silent kitchen, then out the door. She had a bundle with her possessions, but he had nothing, not even an outer coat. Why would he need one, when he never went outside? He was outside now._

_Stepping outside was so much different then standing by a window. The air was all around him, cool and sweet. He wasn’t watching the world, he was part of it. And then_

_He looked up._

_And never wanted to go back inside again, as the glittering tapestry of the sky unfolded as he followed Ellie down the road. It made him think of poetry. He could keep walking and looking at it forever._

* * *

When Mr. Aluet, the cub leader- and more importantly, one of the teachers at the school- noticed Logan’s difficulty at discerning certain details, he hadn’t expected to be brought to an eye doctor and given a straight forward exam, even though several people wore glasses, including Patton. It was a kindness. He’d seen many of them, but it always surprised him. When the optometrist explained that with glasses he’d be able to read without headaches, he’d greedily accepted it, however.

Only afterwards did he wonder if it would somehow make him a target of ridicule, like in the movies that he had been watching with the cubs. That didn’t last past seeing in detail the way Patton’s face lit up when he saw him. Since he had met him, it had always been reassuring that Patton expressed his moods and emotions with his whole body, making him much easier to read than other people. It had not occurred to him that what was writ large on his body was also on his face. 

“Oh hey~” Patton said cheerfully “We have the same glasses.” 

Logan dipped his head a bit, hiding his smile. 

“When I was picking frames I saw them, and thought- they’re pleasing on you, and they looked practical.” 

“Well I hope you’re looking as well as you’re looking.” Patton grinned and winked at him. Logan shook his head. 

“Why must you constantly mangle the English language?” 

“Because my french is worse!” 

Logan shook his head, but he was smiling. Being able to see was wonderful. He felt like a different person, with his hair cut short, and clothing that he had chosen. A real person. And with the glasses things were clearer up close. Words were clear on the page, and the faces of the people he knew as well. Their faces went with their voices, and looked like good words sounded. When Patton changed forms, he saw the texture of the fur as well as the markings. It was marvelous. Logan was somewhat frustrated that being able to read facial expressions didn’t make them make much more sense. Patton introduced him to comic books and graphic novels, insisting that they’d be like an illustrated primer to emotions, because the words would explain what the faces the drawings were making. 

This wasn’t exactly true, but the stories were entertaining, and at least now he knew why Patton’s cousin called him ‘Giant Wolverine’ which had never made sense. He’d started to wonder if Dee had expected him to turn out to be a shapeshifter as well, albeit a terribly specific one. After comic books came the internet; computers were amazing enough, but computers that connected to other computers? Sharing information? He was put on a ration after no one noticed that he’d spent nearly thirty-six hours straight on Wikipedia. Sometimes Patton would just sit with him, and remind him to take breaks- though that often took the form of him teasing Logan into doing something else with him for a while. But he always seemed willing to listen to whatever special interest had caught Logan any given week. Logan had been gleefully showing Patton a site he’d found when Patton had gently told him that it was fake. Logan was very confused, especially when the werewolf told him it was pretty common. Even places that looked like legitimate news sites were often full of misinformation. 

“People deliberately put bad information out?! For what purpose?!”

“I dunno, freindo.” Patton sighed and laid his cheek on the desk. “I guess it makes them feel smart to fool people?” He sat up as Logan gave an angry noise, somewhere between a groan and a snarl. His friend had covered his mouth, as if embarrassed, and deliberately pushed the desk chair back from the computer station. 

“Pardon me.” he mumbled, and left quickly. Patton stared after him, concerned but let him go. 

* * *

_The city was… less than optimal. Certainly less appealing than the night sky. But at the same time there was just so much to see. Ellie’s sister- whose name was Missy, but went by Melusine- helped her find a job at a town house despite her recent termination, and even got Logan a job as well. His imposing stature made him ideal for the theatre owner’s need for someone to act as security. He kept men from trying to bully their way backstage, and had a small room in the attic of the theatre, just above the dressing rooms. Logan wistfully longed for the quiet of his father’s house where he only had to keep track of a dozen people, but he couldn’t deny it was thrilling. The theatre Melusine worked at was hardly prestigious- more of a vaudeville hall than anything, but the people were kind, and welcoming of an awkward giant in their midst. Logan could no longer deny that he was quite tall compared to other people, making finding used garments difficult. The in house seamstress helped him in return for him helping her move things that really didn’t seem heavy to him. Lack of readily available books aside, (And he was rapidly going through the scripts the theatre stored) Logan was rather enjoying his new life. It was easier to be yelled at and forgiven for accidentally breaking something than it was to be subjected to scathing reviews of his performance. It was nicer to be able to buy his own food than just take whatever he was given- though if he had tried to buy enough sweets to satisfy himself, he would have had no money left. He was learning so much that books only glossed over. Logan posited to one of the more intellectual performers- a stage magician who he often carried props for- that this was because people were simply expected to know things without being taught, which didn’t make any sense._

* * *

“Do you think I'm naive?” 

Patton looked up from his book unfolding his legs from where they were curled to look more fully at Logan. 

“Uh… am I really a good person to ask that?” he asked. 

“I think you may be uniquely qualified to answer?” 

“Uhm. Well.” Patton wiggled about, then changed forms, dropping his head into Logan’s lap. Logan rescued the book from getting creased under Patton’s body. 

“I don’t think you’re naive. Sometimes you can be trusting, and sometimes you think the best of people, but that’s good! Especially since you seem to have had a hard time before.” 

Setting the book on a side table, he buried his hands in Patton’s fur. Learning that Patton loved being touched like that had been approximately the second thing Logan had learned about werewolves. The texture was soothing to him as well, so it benefited them both. 

“I think the word is ‘idealistic’” Patton continued after a long moment. “At least on some subjects.” 

“Idealistic.” Logan thought about that. “Striving towards an ideal. That is different from naivety, I suppose.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.” Patton agreed. “If no one had ideals, then we’d never work to get better would we?” 

“I suppose not.” He dug his fingers further into Patton’s fur and removed a mat. He stared at it for a long moment, wondering how Patton had a mat in his fur when he only had fur approximately forty percent of the time. 

“I mean ideals are mostly ideas, right? And ideas are good things.” 

“While you’re not wrong, I’m not sure how you made that jump.”

“Only two more letters! One if it’s a single ideal!” 

Logan blinked slowly. 

“In this case you are correct but that’s not how words work. Especially in English.” 

“Are you paw-sitive?” Patton rolled on his back and waved his paws in the air. 

“Yes, and being adorable will not get you out of every situation.”

“Aw, you think I’m adorable?”

“Certainly. Worthy of adoration, or inspiring of affection.”

“Then so are you!” 

“We will have to disagree on that.” Logan turned his face away as Patton licked him. “That is not a valid debate technique either. ... I am still unused to having conversations with dogs.” 

“Woo-boy.” Patton sat up, crawling backwards out of Logan’s lap and changing back to human, settling his glasses on his nose. “I do not want to have this conversation, but I guess I am.” 

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Yeah, and I’m kind of impressed it took this long now that I think about it. Logan, werewolves aren’t dogs.”

Logan cocked his head to the side, eyebrows drawing together. “Of course they aren’t. They are humans and sometimes they are wolves. And occasionally that in between state I do not understand.” He didn’t understand what purpose it served, or how they maintained it, or frankly, how anyone walked like that, though he had seen several different people in it. 

“No I mean- you can’t call werewolves dogs. It’s… really rude.”

“Oh. One of those words one does not use.” He considered this. “Can you tell me why?”

“Uh… well it’s demeaning. It’s like we’re not real humans or real wolves. I think someone described it like humans put a bit of human in wolves heads to make dogs. And… dogs _serve_. Especially you know hypochondriacal ones.”

“Do you mean hypothetical?” 

“... alligators?”

“Allegories. Allegorical.” 

“Gesundheit.” Patton nodded firmly. “It’s not recent history, but werewolves have been regarded as animals more than people in the past. Killed without remorse when they acted out, used as means for an end. Kept. As pets or servants. So… werewolves don’t like being called dogs.”

“I see. I am sorry Patton.” 

“It’s okay, Lo. You didn’t know. Better me than some old wolf who’d get really angry.” 

“There is clearly a lot I still need to learn about werewolves. That is a variable I never anticipated.” 

“It really is okay, you know a whole lot more than most people who aren’t werewolves or other shapeshifters.” 

“But not enough.” 

Patton settled back down, resting his head on his friend's shoulder. 

“Will it ever be enough?” 

“Ah. You raise an excellent point.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Logan gets drunk, makes a personal discovery, and gets kissed (in the Past)

Logan was not an outdoorsy type, he decided.

The exercise was important, the fresh air was pleasant, and the night sky was beautiful, but he wasn’t sure if it was worth camping. Especially not for _fun._ Which seemed to be why the others were there. He was already feeling out of place, since most of them were shifters and all of them but Mr. Aluet were in their mid teens. It seemed they’d forgotten that he wasn’t, even though no one had a good grasp on how old Logan actually was, even himself, so when the Cub troop planned a camping trip, he was automatically included, and other than a few vague attempts, didn’t have the heart to protest. After all it would be out even further from light pollution, and he would get to stargaze. 

In the meantime, walking over uneven ground for miles while carrying a pack was not his favorite thing in the world. Since a great deal of the point was for the cubs to let off excess energy, and they couldn’t carry much while in animal form, Logan’s strength made him exceptionally useful in carrying essential supplies. As the others- even the human members of the pack scampered ahead, Logan kept his pace steady. As long as he could see at least one of them and follow along it was fine. They would camp, and he’d lie back and lose himself in the sky. A reward for all of this foolish walking and aching. Looking up, he saw the shape that was Mr Aluet’s animal form (was that offensive? He would have to ask Patton some time.) keeping a watch over the ranged out cub pack- which included him. As if he had seen Logan’s attention, the bird dove rapidly becoming more than a shape in the sky. Mr Aluet circled Logan and he offered his arm out, allowing the raven to land there. 

“Are you alright, Logan?” his beak cracked as he spoke, head tipped to the side. 

“I’m not falling that far behind, am I?” He asked. 

“A bit, but not dangerously. You’re just moving a bit stiffly.”

“I am a bit stiff.” Logan agreed. “It’s nothing unusual. Perhaps I should investigate shoes with better ankle support before the next hike.” or investigate getting better at saying no to Patton’s pleading expressions when he was asked to come. That might work as well. It was always easier to ignore the aches when he didn’t have to move as much. 

Mr Aluet made a thoughtful sound.

“In the meantime, I’ll ask them to look for a walking stick for you. You’re listing occasionally so that might help.”

“You don’t need to.” Logan protested. “I do not mean to cause any trouble.”

“No trouble.” he hopped up to Logan’s shoulder and preened a lock of hair, which Logan leaned away from. That beak coming close to his face was something that took getting used to, and he wasn’t quite. Fortunately, Mr Aluet didn’t take any offense, giving a laugh before sideling down Logan’s arm again, nodding. As he’d been instructed before Logan threw up his arm, launching him into the air. He watched him fly off. Somehow, accepting that there were people that were sometimes animals had been easier to accept than many of the other things Logan had learned since arriving. And easier than learning things before. But… perhaps he should be more honest and less reserved. It probably wouldn’t be any trouble if he admitted that sometimes he needed help. Pausing to stretch his neck out, Logan continued to walk along the path of flattened grass. 

* * *

_Pierce, the magician quickly became something close to a friend for Logan, by the simple expedient of telling him about subscription libraries. Logan was incredibly grateful. Since Pierce was the closest friend of the theatre owner, Andrew Thomson, it rather cemented his place at the theatre. Though according to Pierce (the Magnificent Nee Morgan,) Mr. Thomson liked him anyway. Logan couldn’t imagine why, as they’d barely interacted since Missy had gotten him the job. Pierce tended to treat him as a young man who’d had an unfortunate growth spurt, an unclely -sort of big brotherly attitude, despite the fact he came up to approximately Logan’s collarbone. It led him to try and teach him things, like simple slight of hand, about subscription libraries, pickpockets and pawn shops and tonight, alcohol._

_Logan had had beer, as it was the most often served beverage in food shops, but this was whiskey, which was only vaguely the same sort of thing, or rather, according to Pierce, not the same thing at all, despite both being alcohol and therefore abhorred by temperance movements. Logan didn’t think he liked the mouth feel of whiskey, but the flavor was alright, after the burning had subsided. Pierce, Missy, and Pollyanna, another of the dancers were sitting in the office, drinking out of Mr. Thomson’s good glasses while the man himself was off attempting to get sponsors with the better class to renovate the seats. Pierce had dragged him out of his room to keep him company. They had drunk most of the bottle, between them, slightly more going into Logan and Pierce than the girls, and Logan was starting to get the feeling that blinks were lasting too long. Something like being tired, only without feeling tired. When he said as much, Pierce had laughed, but not unkindly._

_“I wondered how long it would take for you to start feeling it, a big boy like you. Ever been drunk before?”_

_“Am I drunk?” Logan asked._

_“Well what do you feel like?” Missy asked, crossing her ankles where they were propped on the edge of the desk._

_“I don’t know.” Logan said blinking and looking at his hand where he held the glass. “I feel… something.”_

_“What?”_

_“Well like things are ...softer I suppose the word might be. My muscles don’t grate against each other as much like this. It’s pleasant.” He blinked a few times with that strange dragging slowness and stared at the glass which was empty. His eyebrows pulled together, clearly contemplating something. Pierce refilled it, and Logan nodded, drinking the liquor he’d been given. “Thank you. Oh. pain. That’s it.”_

_“You’re hurting?”_

_“No… the opposite. I didn’t realize, because it hurt so much more before. Everything is warm now, and the pain is somewhere else. That is nonsensical. Where would the pain have gone?”_

_“I’ll drink to that.” Pierce grinned, and topped up his own glass. “It’s not where the pain has gone, Logan m’boy, it’s when. You’ll find it in the morning.”_

_  
_ _“Oh, you’re talking about a hangover. That sounds very unpleasant.” that made them laugh again. “Well the stage crew talks about it. So I’ve heard about them.” He sipped his drink again. “It tastes better the more you drink, is that normal?”_

_“Yes.” Pollyanna assured him. Polly, like Missy had always been very sweet to him. They’d even offered that he could join them in their rooms to stay warm, which given that the theatre was sparsely heated when it wasn’t occupied was becoming an increasingly appealing solution. He wasn’t fond of the cold, and winter was wearing on. He wasn’t fond of cold, he realized suddenly because it made him hurt more! How had he never realized the connection. He supposed it was because he wasn’t a year old yet._

_“Come again?” Pierce asked, and Logan realized that he’d been talking out loud. His face burned._

_“I haven’t been on my own for a year yet.” he lied, more or less smoothly._

_“Yeah, Ellie said you were real sheltered before.”_

_“You could say that yes.” Logan nodded. “I mostly read books.”_

_“So you haven’t changed.”_

_“Well I got a job.” Logan corrected. “That does cut into the time I can spend reading.”_

_“Still, that’s mostly what you do when you have time.”_

_“I like reading. I do not like crowds much, they are very loud. What else could I do? I don’t think I will ever be a dancer or an actor. I can read, and lift heavy things.”_

_Missy looked over at her friend Pollyanna who grinned mischievously. Standing up she was about even with Logan’s sitting face. He blinked at her curiously as she took his face in her hands and laid a kiss on his lips. Logan’s eyes went wide, shocked, and he was still for a long moment. Pierce laughed._

_“What?” Logan said after the long pause. Pollyanna laughed now, pressing her forehead to Logan’s shoulder. Missy rose up a little less gracefully than usual, and she turned his head the other way and kissed him a second time, this one lasting longer._

_“Well that is something a man can spend some time doing.” Pierce snorted, pouring himself another drink. Logan made a confused noise, blinking much faster now._

_“That’s not a reaction I’ve had before.” Missy teased._

_“It’s not a sensation I’ve had before.” Logan countered. Polly kissed him again._

_This time his eyes shut, eyebrows coming together. By the third round of this, he had tentatively tried kissing back, though he was unsure why this was happening. Then, suddenly a reason occurred to him._

_“Oh!” Logan said suddenly. “You meant fornication, not sleeping!”_

_Though used to Logan’s sudden insights and manner of speech it was too much for his drunk friends, and they laughed, Pierce pressing his head to the desk while Missy and Pollyanna hung off Logan, barely weighing him down at all. Logan, not understanding their amusement completely, smiled anyway, because their laughter sounded nice, and he didn’t hurt, and the warm bodies pressed against him were nice as well._

_“I don’t know anything about it, really.” he confessed. “Pornography isn’t my favorite thing to read.”_

_“Oh darling boy.” Melusine said sweetly. “Somethings are better to not learn from books.” She punctuated the statement with another kiss, which deepened to the point Logan’s eyes opened again in shock. Out of breath, she pulled back and smiled. Polly pressed her cheek against his._

_“So if you’d like to learn, we’d be glad to help.”_

_“Oh don’t debauch the boy in my office.” came a new voice with a laugh. Mr. Thomson stood in the doorway, slightly rumpled and tired._

_“Is it that late already?” Pierce drained his glass, and saluted his friend. “There’s one more glass in here if you want it?”_

_“I’ll take you up on that.” He patted the top of Logan’s head as he passed, distracted, before leaning on the desk next to Pierce, taking the bottle and the glass._

_“How did it go?”_

_“Well, we’re not exactly the Royal Shakespeare Company.” Mr. Thomson grimaced, and tossed back the drink. Shaking his head, he looked at Logan and the girls, smiling weakly. “Why don’t you go off and do whatever it is you’ve got planned. You don’t need to hear this.”_

_Obediently, Logan stood up, making Pollyanna laugh as her feet left the ground, dangling where she had her arms around his neck. Though in a similar position on his front, Missy just squeaked._

_“Don’t break him.” Mr. Thomson snorted._

_“Is that a thing that can happen?” Logan asked, blinking slowly again._

_“I don’t think you need to worry about it.” Peirce leaned on his elbow, canting a little towards Mr. Thomson. Letting Pollyanna and Missy take his hands, Logan followed them. It would be foolish not to take an opportunity to learn something new. And the kissing had been nice, even with the tongue._

* * *

“Never have I ever…. Kissed someone of the opposite sex!” Hanson suggested. 

“How am I supposed to answer that?!” Sam demanded angrily. 

“Well, have you ever kissed anyone?”

“No.”

“Then it doesn’t matter does it?” Hanson stuck his tongue out. 

“How is this played again?” Logan leaned over to Patton. 

“Oh, someone says something that they haven’t done, and if you _have_ you lose a point.” he gestured to his spread hand. “And once you lose all five points, you have to do a dare.”

“Yeah, because we’re playing the pussy way.” Mumbled Edgar. 

“You’re on thin ice anyway for smuggling that bottle along.” Mr. Aluet said sharply, dropping another log onto their campfire. “Don’t make things worse for yourself.” Edgar pouted, but stacked his armful of wood beside the stone circle, and sat back down. Then he deliberately raised his hand and dropped a finger. 

“I am still not sure why.” Logan mumbled. 

“It’s just a kind of bonding thing.” Jules explained. “We learn more about each other, and it’s fun.” She put down a finger as well.

“But you have all known each other for years. Surely you’re at an advantage in making other people lose?” 

“Ease up, Logan.” Tam called from across the fire. “We know each other, but everybody gets up to different things.” He glared at his twin, who had dropped a finger smugly. “Besides it’s just a game.”

“Ah. Very well.” Logan put down a finger. Hanson grinned, and Sam glared, elbowing him.

“Never have I ever… kissed someone of the _same_ gender.” Sam shot out.

Logan put down another finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally planned out the scene with the dance girls I went into detail. Rest assured they gave him a fairly thorough education on the subject, perhaps leaned a little bit towards pleasing ladies. There were demonstrations. Missy and Pollyanna were a couple.  
> Though it's not terribly relevant, so were Pierce and Mr Thomson. 
> 
> Logan's joint and muscle pain is still a thing, he just manages it as best he can. And not by drinking until the pain fuzzes away.
> 
> People in Mr. Aleut's cub pack: Patton, Jules, Sam, Hanson, Edgar, Tam & Tom, Hanna, Will ... and Logan, apparently.  
> Sam identifies as gender neutral, they/them, hence their annoyance.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> contains: drug use, violence, verbal abuse, blood, and a house fire

_The winter passed, and spring brought warmth, and summer approached. Logan had grown comfortable with his place, his friendships. He was a bit unsure about the playful addition of copulation with Polly and Missy, but it was pleasant and harmless. The rules of society seemed somewhat distant from his position. Certainly personal responsibility should hold a greater sway over actions than dogmatic tradition. He’d been reading philosophers from the lending library. While he still occasionally got odd looks on the street, he was comfortable enough in the theatre to be less cautious about displaying his considerable strength, though he retained his very quiet steps, useful in helping backstage._

_In addition to the normal vaudevillian productions, the theatre featured more formal plays in the evening, though as Mr. Thomson said, they were hardly a reputable theatrical company. With Peirce around however, their stage effects often had people coming back for a second show, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that he sought out plays he could incorporate greater effects into. Really, Logan thought that his skill and creativity would be better served in a bigger theatre, with more scope, but Peirce seemed content where he was._

_“Logan!”_

_Setting down what he was carrying, Logan dusted off his hands and turned towards Peirce who was holding a script book aloft._

_“Yes, what is it?”_

_“You’ve got a good memory, right?”_

_“I believe so, I retain information well, why do you ask?”_

_“Have you ever thought about acting?”_

_“I can honestly say it has never occured to me. Peirce, you are my friend, you know I have enough trouble acting like other people expect me to without trying to pretend to be something else as well.”_

_“That’s true.” Peirce scratched his chin. “I just thought a really big person would be great for a role in this play.”_

_“Is it Jack and the Beanstalk?” That would be more suitable for holiday pantomimes._

_“Hey, a joke, good for you.” he patted Logan’s arm._

_Logan had been serious, but he let that pass._

_“Still, take a look.” He handed the script over. “Its a pretty recent play, so we’d get some notoriety this summer if we could get a good audience. It’s an adaptation of a book.”_

_“‘A Modern Prometheus’” Logan said thoughtfully, peering at the script._

_“I think the title lacks punch for a horror play.” Pierce shrugged, “But what can you do?”_

_“Is it about an arsonist? Or perhaps a Robin Hood-like character?”_

_“No it’s about a crazy man who builds a monster out of human corpses.”_

_“Uhhhaahh.”_

_“Are you alright there?”_

_“Uhhh?” Logan forced his hands to unclench from the script, but could not force actual words into his mouth. He tried a smile, which reassured people, in theory. It did not seem to work in this instance._

_“Not a fan of ghost stories?” Pierce asked. Logan shrugged a bit. “Well no worries! No ghosts. But some opportunities for some really good stage effects!”_

_“Mnn.” Logan managed._

_“Give it a read, would you? No pressure, I know you like to blend into the background as best you can.”_

_He nodded._

_Logan didn’t speak for the rest of the day, but no one noticed. A benefit to being a quiet person to begin with._

* * *

Not that he would ever admit it, but Logan had nightmares. 

Sometimes in them the stars went out, one after another. 

Sometimes in them he woke up on a hard table in an echoing room. 

Sometimes in them he would try to move, and fall apart. 

Sometimes in them the words would go away, and not come back and everyone would leave him when they realised he was so flawed. 

Most disturbing was the nightmare he had had- and fortunately he had only had it once so far- of walking on an endless tundra, and then being chased by animals he couldn’t see at first; but then discovered to be wolves, and he ran and ran but they kept up and harried him, attacked him, until he fought back lashing out with a branch, trying to keep them away, to keep from tearing him to pieces. The dream ended before either he or the wolves died, and Logan did not even bother trying to go back to sleep. Instead he left his rooms above the garage, and onto the deck. They were in town, but this time of night there were still plenty of stars to see, even with the omnipresent electric lights. 

Logan leaned on the railing, which was mildly uncomfortable given how far he had to bend, but relaxing. Or at least it was until he smelled smoke, and started sniffing about trying to place it- it wasn’t wood smoke, or thank God, a house fire. Was it smoke at all? It smelled vaguely like burning a leaf pile, or skunks, or maybe a bit like tobacco?

“Stop sniffing around, you sound like my cousin.” A voice said suddenly. Logan jumped upright. 

“Down here.” 

Peering over the edge of the deck, he saw Patton’s cousin half hidden beneath it. There was a brief flare of flame, then another cloud of smoke. 

“Come on down.” they invited. After a moment’s thought, Logan did, coming to fold himself in the concealing shadow beneath the deck. There was enough room for him to lean against the post that held it up comfortably, legs splayed out in front of him. Dee watched him with vague interest, periodically lighting his pipe again. Dee resembled Patton somewhat, though his features were a little sharper, and Patton’s brown hair and sun browned skin were both lighter than the colors his cousin displayed. Dee’s eyes were also a very light brown, instead of blue. They looked remarkably alike for people who looked nothing like each other. The smell of cannabis surrounded them, along with silence. 

“So giant Wolverine, what are you doing up this time of night?”

“I could ask you the same question.” 

“But I asked first.” Smoke hissed out from between their teeth like a dragon. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” Logan admitted. 

“Neither could I.” Dee agreed, and after a moment, passed Logan the pipe. He frowned at it thoughtfully, considering it, before accepting the lighter, and taking a deep draw. “I kind of expected you to stop me. You’ve got that narc vibe.” 

Logan held his breath, raising an eyebrow archly, then exhaled slowly. 

“ _This_ is a narcotic.” the last sound coughed out slightly and he winced. “I’m more familiar with syrup but…” He repeated the action before returning the pipe. “I take it this is something you shouldn’t be doing?”

“Well, not like this.” Dee shrugged a bit. “It’s not _illegal_ , but not exactly a shining virtue.” 

“Is your virtue normally shining?” Logan asked archly, feeling his muscles start to relax. The hashish- pot?- Dee was smoking was certainly strong. He leaned back against the post. Dee gave a bark of a laugh, eyes shining in the dark. Logan frowned a bit, staring into the shadows that Patton’s cousin was sitting in. Their eyes shouldn’t shine like that, humans lacked the tapetum lucidum that made animals’ eyes shine. Though he supposed that perhaps Dee wasn’t human. He’d never seen Dee change to an animal form, however. 

“You are not part of the cub pack.” he commented. 

“And you are.” Dee snorted again and then giggled slightly, forcing themselves to stop before taking another drag. “Weird that.” Dee offered the pipe again. 

“I think so.” Logan agreed, accepting. “Since you are actually a member of the family and I am not.”

“Give it time.” Dee snorted. 

“Time will not change my genetics.” 

Again, the golden-brown eyes blinked in the dark. 

“Time changes a lot.”

“A great deal changes with time.” Logan considered this statement, and drew smoke into his lungs and held it for as long as he could. He held his breath until Dee nudged him with their foot, at which point he let the smoke out and returned the pipe. 

“So do you have trouble sleeping often? This like the pain you don’t like to talk about?”

“Considering how little you and I talk, you know a great deal about me. Especially things I don’t like to talk about.”

“You’re interesting. Different.” 

“That is certainly one way to describe me.” Logan said sourly. “‘Fortunately unique’ is another.” 

* * *

_Now that he knew the book existed, Logan sought it out immediately. Rather than taking it out of the subscription library, he bought a used copy. It wasn’t a very thick book, less than three hundred pages all told. He read it over several times; enough that Missy and Peirce noticed. Often enough that he couldn’t explain it away, and even accepted an attempt at reading the role in the play. Pierce was the only one who found it amusing. Well, the director appeared to as well. Or, like Pierce he appreciated the weight Logan brought to the role. Logan was less enthusiastic, but with the pressure from his friends he acquiesced. For all his central role, the ‘creature’ had less stage time than many of the other roles. In the meantime, he just wondered about the possible connections. The connotations. The coincidence. Or lack thereof._

* * *

Logan was doing laundry when Patton’s father entered the room. The house was filled with a large, extended family, many of whom were somewhat careless. There was always laundry to be done, and Logan liked to feel like he was contributing something. 

“Ah, Logan, just who I was looking for.” 

Logan paused in what he was doing, giving the older werewolf his full attention. 

“We’re getting you paperwork made.” Hannibal said, like it was the simplest thing. “We had to wait until you had enough presence in records, and then we realized that something was missing.”

“What is it? Is it something I can do?” Everyone needed paperwork these days, so having it would enable Logan to do things he wouldn’t be able to do without it. He could get a job, or higher education- or rationally, both. 

“Sort of.” the stout tall man nodded. “Do you have a last name? It’s been sliding but I don’t think you want all your paperwork made out as ‘Logan Foundling’”

Logan winced without thinking. 

“Yeah I thought so.” Hannibal laughed gently. When he laughed, Logan could see his resemblance to Patton, though his appearance could generally be described more as ‘lumberjack’ than anything else. “So do you have a family name or anything?” 

* * *

_He had not expected to see his father in town. Though he supposed that it was a fashionable enough town. He probably wouldn’t have even noticed, if he hadn’t been looking for something, anything to distract himself. From his oncoming stage debut, from the circling thoughts that plagued him. But there on the street, talking to another gentleman outside a drinking house was unmistakably his father._

_Logan was torn between going over and begging forgiveness for leaving and ducking into a convenient alley and just hoping Harold Cromwell Alexander walked away and that he would never see him again, never have to think about him again, never wonder why it was he chose to play God and reanimate human tissue into a new being. Instead he did nothing but stare._

* * *

“My father’s name was Alexander but I think… I would rather not have anything from him, more than I can help.” Logan said slowly. 

“Any ideas then?” 

Logan didn’t want to keep him waiting, and his eyes darted back and forth, considering names; he certainly didn’t want to take the name of anyone he knew, that would certainly be a burden on them; likely the reason that Hannibal was not simply including him in the Hart family. While Logan stayed with them, he wasn’t one of them. Something that would sound normal, something that would sound good with his name. “Croft.” He said finally. A farm, a home, and the last name of that video game character that they’d played the other day. 

“That’s a good one.” Hannibal approved. “Means crafty and smart.” 

“Does it? Then yes, that sounds perfect. Something to strive for.” He took a deep steadying breath, then started folding the laundry again. Hannibal wrote on the papers he was holding, then went to leave.

“Mr. Hart?”

“You can call me Hannibal, Logan. You know that.” he smiled. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, kiddo.” 

* * *

_Despite his misgivings, when his father had emerged from the club he had been visiting, Logan was still there, and when he strolled off, Logan followed. He didn’t want to return to being locked in the house. He knew now that his father had not been kind to him, had never been kind to him, and having heard of other families, that he wasn’t a terribly good father._

_But for all of that, he was the only father- the only_ **_family_ ** _Logan had. And for better or worse, he was the best chance Logan had for getting answers about himself. He was created of dead bodies brought back to life; how many? Where had they come from? Had he been brought to life through electrical stimulation? Was it chemical? Was it both? What if- and this haunted him- what if one day he simply_ **_stopped_ ** _because he didn’t understand what it was that kept him moving? So he followed him to a town house, much smaller than the house in the country that he had been born- did it even count as being born?- in. His father entered, and the door shut behind him. Logan shifted back and forth. He had already missed the curtain by now. The stage crew would manage without him, and the first production of ‘A Modern Prometheus’ was still a week distant, though advertisements had begun. They would survive without him. They would survive without him if he never returned. It was hardly like he was vital to the theatre. Logan twisted his handkerchief in his hands, nervously, then meticulously folded it sharpening the folds with his nails to strengthen his resolve to stop the nervous gesture. He took a deep breath, smoothed his neckcloth and waistcoat, and walked up to the door, knocking. A butler opened the door and frowned at him._

_“Tradesman’s entrance is around back; but I can tell you now we’re not looking for help.”_

_“Please tell Mr. Alexander that Logan is here to see him.” he said, in his crispest diction. His clothing might be working class, but his accent was decidedly not. The butler looked startled. He looked down at him with a calm blank expression._

_“... One moment, sir.” he said, the honorific slipping out. Logan nodded, and he stepped back to let him stand in the entry hall. Tucking his arms politely behind his back, holding his hat out of the way, he waited. Long minutes passed. There was the faint sounds of life from elsewhere in the house, and the steady tick-tock of the grand cabinet clock in the hallway._

_“I must admit I had assumed you were lying dead in a ditch from drink, like your component parts.”_

_The sudden comment made him jump. Logan made a mental note to not get drunk again, even if the relief was nice. His father looked down at him from the top of the stairs._

_“Well? Come if you are coming.” Turning away, he strolled away. Logan hastily ascended the stairs as silently as possible. His father entered a room that proved to be a study parlor, set up much the same as the one in his country house. Shutting the door behind himself Logan stood quietly as his father poured himself a drink, not offering anything to Logan, and settled himself in the chair behind the desk._

_“Well? Freedom not suiting you?” his father demanded. “You caused me no end of embarrassment with your absence you know. I had hoped to return to the university with proof of concept, and yet I had to return empty handed.”_

_“Freedom.” Logan said quietly. “Freedom is what all men desire, is it not? Wars have been fought, revolutions built around the rights of personal freedom. Or even intellectual freedom.”_

_“And yet society itself would not function without lack of freedom. Without order, and structure and discipline, society would fall apart. Without obeying.” he looked pointedly at Logan who just met his gaze. He would not fall apart. This man, his father was not his entire world any longer._

_“You did not say I couldn’t leave.”_

_When his father struck the surface of his desk, Logan jumped, and almost dropped his hat._

_“A child’s logic.” He sneered. “Nothing but a child running away from home.”_

_“I… cannot be a child.” Logan ventured, surprised at how much his father’s anger was affecting him. “Not with the way I am. No one will expect it or respect it. I must behave in a fashion that… corr…. corresponds with my appearance.”_

_“Is that so?” There was so much anger in his face, and Logan could not fathom why. At least when he was faced with anger at the theatre, it was because he was forcibly ejecting someone who did not belong there and wished to do harm to the dancers. That made sense. What could he possibly be denying his father that led to this level of anger? “Then why are you here?”_

_“I… must appear an adult. But I have questions. About myself that I cannot answer. You are...” he bit his lip. “You are more likely, sir, to have the answers I like.”_

_“Ha!” He rocked back in his seat. “You want answers from me?! As if you have the_ **_right_ ** _! You are a failure. A Mockery of my intended masterpiece who could not even obey so that I could learn what I did wrong.”_

_Though these were sentiments Logan had heard before, when he did not perform as his father hoped, he still shook his head, holding onto his speech so hard the brim of his already battered hat crumpled in his hands._

_“A… partial success is still a success, sir. I may not be everything you had intended, but I… live. I am… I am a person. Is that not something? Man has not cre-created man without a woman since Adam’s rib!”_

_“Oh so you think yourself a success?”_

_“At… at least partially. But I don’t know anything about myself.”_

_“And that is why you don’t realize how wrong you are. Not just in thought. But everything about you.” He rose from his desk chair, and without thinking, Logan took a step back. Logan swallowed._

_“If.. I … am ...wrong… would it not… follow…” It wasn’t working and he groaned into his hands as his words came out clumsily and unfocused._

_“Don’t start with that. You can speak perfectly well. I can hardly get you to be quiet.”_

_“I”_

_“You wanted to ask questions.” He mocked. “SPEAK THEN.” reaching up, he clapped his hands loudly in front of Logan’s face, as if to startle him into compliance. Logan recoiled back as if he’d been struck, an embarrassingly panicked moan coming from him. He hadn’t been hurt. It was perfectly reasonable to expect him to speak. He could speak. He was good with words, why … why were they all flying away like he couldn’t grasp them? Why couldn’t he put them in order? Clutching his hair and head painfully tight, he groaned again._

_“Eloquently put.”_

_Logan raised his head and glared with all the force he could muster. Had he really wanted this man’s approval? Did he need it? Logan had met better men now._

_“Why?” he demanded, forcing the word out past his frustration._

_“Why?” His father looked confused._

_“Why… did you… make me?” He reached into his coat, and pulled out the copy of Shelly’s novel that he’d bought. “Is… this?”_

_“So you’ve read it?”_

_Logan just nodded, and pointed at his father._

_“Of course I have. There was a great deal of talk when it was first published. I was certain that it could be done, and my instructors were adamant that it could not be.” he rubbed his chin. “You were correct about one thing. I suppose now that I have you again, I can prove that I was right.”_

_“I … am…. Not a possession.” Logan protested. “You performed this… scientific necromancy simply because your instructors told you that you_ couldn’t? _I’m… I’m” the words were fleeing. “What am I?”_

_“An experiment, I suppose. A failed one, if you will not function as needed.”_

_Logan ground his teeth together, fighting to make his suddenly thick tongue work._

_“Am I?” how was he a failure? What was he supposed to be? How had he failed, if he didn’t know what he was supposed to be? “How can a human… be a ... failure?” His father laughed dismissively._

_“You claim to be smart, Logan, but you’re begging a question there. Assuming that you’re human.”_

_“Am I… not human, then?” The roar in his head was receding, and the words were there where he could put them in order._

_“You were supposed to be better.”_

_“Better than what?” Logan asked, baffled. “Humans are a wonder.”_

_“Humans are flawed.”_

_“Wouldn’t perfection be boring? Admirable, but…” he tried to think of the word. He was managing, barely, but words were still difficult. “Lonely.”_

_“There are worse things than being alone.” His father said dismissively. Logan shook his head._

_“No.”_

_“That’s a child’s answer.”_

_“No!” Logan repeated. “I have felt connection with them. I have touched them, loved them, laughed and cried with them, gotten to know them. Humans are incredible; I thought- I thought you only sought to recreate that wonder.”_

_“Do you think you belong with humans? Even flawed, you aren’t the same, you aren’t human. There is nothing like you in the world. Even if I show the university what I accomplished, there will likely never be anything like you again. You, Logan are unique, and always will be.”_

_“Why must I be alone?” He brought his hand down on the desk, and it cracked. They both stared at it, shocked at Logan’s unusual show of temper. A long silence stretched, as he did not apologize._

_“What do you want, for me to build you a wife?” His father was shaking now too, as if only now realizing how large and strong Logan was. “Or what?”_

_“Nothing.” Logan gripped his own wrist, as if to prevent another angry outburst. “Only- you made me like this. To be like this.”_

_“Clearly a mistake. One is too many.”_

_“I’m not asking for a wife, a sibling, I’m asking for an_ **_explanation_ ** _, as I always have!”_

_“You are wrong.”_

_“If I am wrong, you made me this way!” his eyes burned. This wasn’t what he’d hoped for. Part of him had hoped that his father had missed him, that he’d want him back, that his absence would have ignited some spark of actual fatherly feeling._

_“Then I should rectify my mistake.”_

_Hopefully, Logan looked up at his creator, his father, only to see a knife coming at him. He jerked back. That and the poor angle kept it from severing his carotid artery, and he jerked back, covering the spurting wound, knocking a paraffin lamp into the curtains which caught fire. The knife came at him again, and he kicked away, sending the other man flying, hand still pressed to the wound, pain, fear and hurt in his eyes._

_He’d known- of course he’d known- that his creator held little love for him. But still he hadn’t expected that._

_“I’ll haunt you.” he panted. “Your own failure will.” And he ran, blood seeping from beneath his fingers._

_Logan didn’t mean anything by it, but he had wanted to lash out. His creator had never found him before, and he doubted he would now, even if his childish taunt meant anything. Logan ran, desperately, clumsily down the stairs, crashing into walls as he went. Springing it off its hinges in his haste- it had been locked, and he didn’t care- Logan ran out the door and into the streets, not noticing or caring if the fire the lamp had started spread or not. Either way it would distract his creator from following him now._

* * *

Logan wasn’t terribly interested in most of the Cub Pack’s activities, but when they delved into more traditional scouting, like learning local legends, carpentry and first aid, he was much more involved. He still wasn’t very good at carpentry, but he tried. First aid was much more satisfactory, and he learned as much as he could, even the things that most of the others weren’t interested in, since, for the most part, they could change shape and heal. Not an option for him, and he assumed that he would get to know other humans at some point. The first aid and CPR certification card that he earned made him feel accomplished, somehow. It was always good to be prepared. 

* * *

_Missy and Polly found him the next day. He was sloppily bandaged, and sprawled against the wall of the small room he stayed in at the theatre. Blood streaked his torso, and tracks of tears streaked his face, his hair free of it’s normally neat artist’s que and straggling about his face. His pants were splotched with blood, and dirt and other substances. But he was breathing. The breaths were slow and steady, and despite the messy bandage on his neck, his arms were wrapped around his chest._

_“Get Peirce!” Missy hissed, stepping into the room, and Polly ran off to do that. As she did Missy delicately got closer, touching the bandage, only to find herself lifted off her feet suddenly as Logan’s hands flashed out, wrapping around her arms with bruising force. He stared at her for a long moment before setting her back on her feet, swallowing dryly._

_“I’m sorry.” he said so quietly she almost missed it._

_“I’m fine, Logan. What happened to you?” She set her feet on either side of one of his legs and smoothed his hair back gently, avoiding the bandage for now._

_“I… it’s…. It’s not important.” Logan mumbled._

_“Not important!” She said, offended, and said a few choice words that expressed her opinion of that. “You’ve been attacked! You were missing last night! We were worried for you!”_

_“You were?” he sounded lost. “I… I am more sorry then. It was-” he coughed. “Not my intention to worry you. I’m afraid…” he looked about his room which was something of a mess, bloody hand prints on the wall, belongings and bed disarranged by his attempts at medical care. Missy realized the bandage was made of a shirt, torn into strips. “I was less than optimal last night.”_

_“What happened?” Peirce appeared in the door. “Dear God, Logan!” He entered the room and drew up a stool. His hands went to the sloppy bandage immediately and Logan flinched but didn’t lash out this time._

_“I… made a mistake in judgement last night.” Logan sniffed, then coughed._

_“And that led to you getting knifed?!” his friend demanded. “I mean, good job them, reaching it, but Logan, where were you that this happened, you’re such a cautious soul.” Logan flinched, and Polly came running in with a kettle of hot water, clearly stolen from the tea-hob. In short order he had been cleaned up and his wound re- bandaged properly. “It wasn’t even a sharp knife.” Peirce sniffed, and helped Logan into his other shirt._

_“I’m sorry for missing work, you’ll bring my apologies to the stage manager?” Logan offered earnestly instead of explaining. Missy picked up his copy of The Book, which was stained in blood and ripped in two halves- across the spine. She threw it in the rubbish bin with the other scraps, having used the cleanest parts of his makeshift bandaging to sponge the stains on the wall away._

_“You’re not going to tell us what happened are you?” she asked, not looking at him. “Just like all the other scars. Are… are you in some sort of trouble, Logan? I thought you were a bastard son, run away, but are you running away from something else?”_

_He laughed weakly, a single bark of humorless sound._

_“Oh no, I am an unwanted bastard, that’s for certainty.” he tried to come up with some sort of reasonable explanation. “Cornered dogs bite, I suppose.”_

_Missy smiled, remembering what her sister had said about Logan._

_“Oh dear, did you try to come to someone else’s rescue?”_

_“No. I merely made a mistake in judgement.” he looked at his friends. “... and it may have repercussions. I’m sorry.”_

_The question he expected didn’t come. They didn’t ask what he’d done. Instead, Peirce asked_

_“Who did this to you, Logan?”_

_Logan looked away._

_“Logan, who tried to kill you?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the entire scene with Patton's cousin was entirely unplanned. Logan had a nightmare, stepped outside, and boom! the entire thing.  
> It probably became a thing the two of them did when they couldn't sleep.
> 
> fun fact; pot is legal for medical/recreational use in Alaska. And it was when this happened  
> Just not for sixteen year olds.


	6. Chapter 6

They were supposed to be studying, but Patton had been tapping his pencil against the paper for a half an hour. Logan was reaching his limit of patience. 

“Patton.” he said “Are you aware of what you’re doing?”

Judging from the slight jump, he was not. 

“Sorry, Lo, what was the question?” he blinked a few times and rubbed at his eyes.

“Is something the matter?” 

Patton’s smile was a little uncertain. 

“No nothing’s the matter.” It didn’t seem that was true.

“Technically.” Logan said slowly. “Everything is matter.” 

Ah, there was Patton’s normal smile. 

“Did you just pun at me?”

“Of course not.” Logan said seriously, though his eyes were smiling. “I merely stated a fact.” 

“Of course.” he smiled for a moment more then resumed staring into the distance. At the first tap, Logan cleared his throat.

“What are you thinking about so intently?” he tried

“Oh.” Patton blinked. “I guess I’m thinking about the future.” he smiled again, that kind of awkward wobbly one. “Can you recommend sleeping through a century?”

“I cannot.” Logan shook his head for emphasis. 

“Well I didn’t think that was going to work out, but it was worth asking.”

“Are you particularly tired?” 

Patton rubbed his eyes again. 

“Kind of.” 

“Why don’t you take a nap? Not a century long one, certainly, but fifteen to twenty minutes is supposed to restore functionality well.” 

He shook his head. 

“I don’t think it’s that kind of tired, Lo.” He looked at his hands, fiddling with his pencil, but thankfully, not tapping it. “I just… am I supposed to know what I want to do with my life? Do I really have any real choice?” 

“Why wouldn’t you? You’re smart, you have any number of options for learning a trade or furthering your education.” 

Patton groaned and dropped his head onto the table, then shook himself all over, transforming, still balanced in his chair with his head on the table. 

“Nope. I’m a wolf. Wolves don’t have to think about SAT prep.” 

Reaching over, Logan dug his fingers into the thick fur at the back of Patton’s neck and scratched gently. The wolf melted a little bit at the attention, tail wagging awkwardly against the back of the chair. 

“What brought this on?”

Patton sighed again, which blew the pencil across the table. 

“Just not knowing is exhausting. Everyone is asking me ‘Patton, what are you going to do with your life?’ and I don’t know. I’m sixteen, I don’t know what I want. Papa wants me to start taking responsibility. Become the youth leader for Packston. I mean, I like kids, and I want to help them and stuff, but I don’t know if I can be a role model.” 

“I think you could. If you wanted to.” Logan said. “You want to help people, and that’s admirable. But you’re still young. You don’t have to make your choices now. You shouldn’t have to.” 

“I just want my Papa to be proud of me.” 

Logan couldn’t help but smile at his friend. 

“I think no matter what, he will be.” 

“You do?”

“Even if you decide not to take the SATs at all. Your father would probably be proud of you if you ran away into the wilderness and ate rats and wild hamsters for the rest of your life.”

“Papa said his uncle did that. That he helped repopulate wolves up in Northwest Territories.”

Logan wasn’t exactly sure what to say to that. 

“I don’t think _I_ would though.” Patton said after thinking about it. 

“No?” Logan kept scratching at the back of his neck, and Patton’s foot twitched a bit. 

“Yeah, hamsters are too darn cute to eat!” 

“Then perhaps you should keep studying.” 

Patton whined, but sat back up into his human form. 

“ _You_ never took your SATs.”

“Not true. I’m taking them now, the same as you are.” 

* * *

_Logan was on his feet, albeit cautiously by that evening. Word had spread that a very brave (or very stupid) mugger had caught him off guard, and the rest of the backstage crew was making sure he didn’t over exert himself, leaving him watching the stage door, and leafing through today’s newspaper. He would need a new hat, as it was hardly seemly to be out without one, and a shirt to replace the one he’d torn up. But for now it was pleasant to sit and read the paper. The care his friends were showing towards his injury was gratifying, even. He hadn’t realised that they’d cared so much. His creator was wrong. If he wasn’t human, he was human enough. He learned, he breathed, he bled, he cared. Surely he had a soul. Surely that was what made humans human. The philosophers at least said so. He raised his eyes to stare down a man who was slinking down the alley, and he paused, before continuing, only offering a delivery of a string bag of fresh fruit for the leading lady. A refined gift, and Logan approved, but he didn’t let the man inside, instead stowing it for delivery after the show. There was a note, if she wanted to get in touch with him, Logan was sure she would. It hadn’t made front page news, but there was an article about a house fire on the other side of town. A small part of him was vindictively pleased that it had burnt down, especially when the article said that no one had been seriously hurt. The sentence ‘a tall man believed to be of Irish descent was seen fleeing the scene’ was somewhat more concerning._

_After everyone else had gone home, Logan did something he’d never done before._

_He went into the chorus dressing room, and looked at himself in the mirror. This was who he was. His face was even, features sharp and strong, his eyes a dark blue that looked almost black at times. He had never cut his hair, wearing it tied back instead, and it was soft and midnight black, reaching below his shoulder blades. Slowly, he took his shirt off and traced his fingers over the bandage, and then from there, the scars that traced his torso here and there. Logan smoothed a hand over his cheek- he’d never needed to shave, like a young boy, rather than a man. His skin was pale, milky, though a few places looked like they had been tanned before, a hand, a stretch of skin on his ribcage, the vee of his neck below the clavicle. The scars were raised and puffy yet, pinker and darker than even the darkest parts of his skin. They always got more visible when he was upset._

_In the book the creation was described as horrible, with a few striking attractive features. He could see no resemblance there, except for the dark color of his hair. His eyes were sunken currently, though he presumed that was lack of sleep, not a perpetual state. Trying to look upon himself like a stranger, Logan found himself in proportion, symmetrical, and he supposed not unattractive. He did like the shape of his muscles down his chest, compared to the soft layer that covered Polly and Missy’s chests. Sighing, Logan touched the bandage on his lower neck. He looked human. Like a not -unattractive human to boot. Nothing to connect him to Shelly’s monster except the truth. He redressed himself. For now, it would be better to stay in the theatre. It wouldn’t do to repay their kindness by accidentally leading the law to them. He knew enough to know that blame rarely went where it belonged when it came to ‘lower class’ people._

* * *

Learning was something Logan liked. He liked it a great deal. Testing, he discovered was a great form of stress that he could just as soon do without. He had not been prepared by the classroom tests for how stressful the larger tests were. While Patton curled up with his family and packmates to recover from the stress, and urged Logan to join in, Logan instead isolated himself in his room. Or he tried to; since shortly after night fell, there was a scrabbling at his door, and when he opened it, in poured Patton’s entire age-group of friends and acquaintances.

“We’re hiding.” Patton explained. “Apparently there was big college talk going on all over town.” 

“We’re like the biggest class in a decade.” Sam offered. “Our parents are kind of proud and weirded out.”

“And I am included in this?” 

“Well, more like you have a space parents don’t go.” 

“We used to use this place as a club house before Mr. Hart gave it to you, since no one lived here.”

“That explains the mess in the closet.” Logan rolled his eyes. 

“But of course you’re included!” Patton said, hugging his arm. 

“I’m not a child.” Logan protested. 

“Neither are we.” Jules pointed out. 

“Ed, where do you keep getting booze?” Tom demanded suddenly. 

“That's for me to know and not to share.” Sharing his sources aside, he had a whole bag of nip bottles that he was sharing with the group.

Logan looked down at Jules and Patton, who were on the other end of the responsibility scale from Edgar. Jules was technically graduating this year, and had already secured acceptance to a good state university, and her problems were only going to be finding some place to cut loose once a month. She just groaned.

“This was not the plan.” Patton sighed. “But you know Ed.”

“I know a compulsive personality should not be allowed around addictive substances.” 

“It’s not that bad…” Patton protested weakly and uncertainly. 

“I suppose we will be unable to tell for certain until he can acquire the alcohol legally. If it retains the allure when it is no longer forbidden…”

“Well, in the mean time, we can try to minimize the trouble.” Patton sighed.

“We? I assumed you’d be participating in the youthful shenanigans.”

“I know you won’t be, so I might as well keep you company.” Patton huffed. “I just don’t really see the draw, you know? You can be silly without getting drunk and laughter hangovers hurt less!” 

“Let’s play twister!” called someone Logan didn’t immediately recognise. He was fairly sure they were one of the few actual humans present. 

“Let’s play Risk.” He countered. “I have that game here.” 

“You are so square and straight people could use you to hang pictures, Logan.” 

“I assure you I am not straight.” Logan countered, which made people laugh for some reason. 

One good thing about being as square and straight as Tam said is that when the parents showed up to collect their wayward teens, Logan wasn’t blamed in the least. _Partly_ because he’d gone and told Hannibal what had gone on as soon as the majority were asleep.

He might not be a narc, but he was perfectly willing to snitch if the occasion called for it. 

* * *

_Time passed, and Logan’s worries eased, though he would take time to go through the newspaper for mentions of his father. Logan’s flirt with fame was without consequence as far as he could tell. Reviews for the production of ‘A Modern Prometheus’ focused more on the effects Peirce had created than the monster’s actor. Which in Logan’s opinion is how it should be. He didn’t want fame or attention. He just wanted to live his life quietly, and read books, and forget that there was anything odd about him. The wound had faded to a scar before the performance. His friends seemed surprised, but that seemed like a reasonable amount of time to Logan. He’d been hurt before, in the course of living life, and the injuries never seemed to stick around long. This did lead to him reading a few medical books that the lending library had, which were different from the ones his father’s study had contained._

_Despite his desire to do no more than put it all behind him and live his life, Logan was stuck with a longing hunger for knowledge. After all, the only knowledge that he’d gained from the failed confrontation was that his father hated him. Logan wanted to understand himself, what made him different, where he’d come from. Had his component parts really died in a ditch? Was the face he wore attached to a man with a family who missed him? There were faint differences in skin tone and texture on certain parts of his body and many of his scars were over very organ rich areas. Did those come from another person? How many? Was the pain in his joints indicative of more problems? Logan tried to console himself with the thought that all humans were full of medical mysteries, but it wasn’t that much of a help._

* * *

There was a knock at the door to the outside, and Logan stared at it for a moment before setting his book down and crossing the room. He’d gotten used to spending the nights of the full moon alone, as even the non-shifting members of the Hart household tended to clump together on those nights, the older babysitting the younger so the pack could do what it did. It occurred to Logan that he’d never asked. Perhaps he’d ask Dee the next time they couldn’t sleep. The moon hadn’t risen waxing full yet, so perhaps something had just come up that needed his attention. He would be more than glad to help any way he could. 

He was not expecting a slightly grouchy looking Patton standing at the door of the garage loft. His hair was tousled and his glasses were dirty. He wore a very old looking pair of sweatpants and a shirt with a stretched out collar that might well have been big on Logan, and an equally large sweatshirt. Patton had recently hit a growth spurt and discarded all his puppy fat, making him look somewhat stretched out, and bringing the top of his head to Logan’s shoulder. Despite the fact it was early enough in the year there was still snow on the ground, he was barefoot. 

“Is something the matter?” Logan asked. They were less than twenty feet from Patton’s house. There was no reason for him to be in such a state of disarray.

“Hi Lo!” Patton said with a slightly hollow sounding cheer. “Mind if I come in?” 

“Uh… of course not.” He stepped aside, and Patton slunk in, scratching at the back of his neck with one hand. 

“You didn’t answer my question, Patton.” Logan pressed, shutting the door against the chill outside. “Not that I mind your company, but you don’t usually visit when the moon is full.”

“And that’s weird right?” Patton ran his hand through his hair now, explaining the disarranged state. “We’ve been friends for almost four years now, so that’s like forty something full moons.”

“There are approximately thirteen full moons in a calendar year, so closer to fifty.” Logan replied. “Not to be indelicate, but you are a werewolf. Even dismissing popular fiction or legend that suggests you would be dangerous during that time, presumably you have a reason why.” 

Patton exhaled slowly with a faint sort of rumble in his throat and upper chest. Logan blinked down at him. 

“That’s just it.” he whined, flopping down on the rug. “There isn’t a reason, it just is.”

Logan looked at the floor, then back at his chair. 

“Do you mind if I sit in the chair instead?” 

Patton flapped a hand at him and dropped even further down, lying on his side.

“I’m fairly certain you’re not inviting me to … whatever it is you do. I wouldn’t fit in.” 

“No.” Patton sighed deeply. “So. You know a new family moved in this year? The Smiths?”

“Yes?”

“They’ve got a daughter. My age. Also a werewolf.” 

“Oh that’s interesting. I suppose she’s too old to join in the scouting pack?” 

“Yeah, they moved here because she developed the shift at puberty.”

“That’s late, isn’t it?” 

“It’s one of the two main times.” Patton rubbed a shoulder against the ground as if scratching an itch. “Either you shift as a child, like toddler, or puberty, usually. I mean, I hear it’s possible to happen later in life if you get really stressed or something.” 

“It must be a big adjustment for them.”

“Yeah, they only had the faintest rumors of shifting in their family before this. They were really scared until they met someone who knew about Packston.”

“I have to admit curiosity about werewolves who chose to live elsewhere.”

“Well it’s not much fun to shift alone.” Patton confirmed. Logan started to say something at that, but decided not to. “It’s kind of like lone wolves? Sad. And then if you don’t have anyone to explain things you can get people all ‘alpha wolf-y’ which is kind of like those self proclaimed ‘alpha males’ only with deadly teeth.” 

“Terrifying.” 

“Yeah.” 

“That doesn’t explain why you’ve made the decision to come visit me just before moonrise on the night of the full moon.” Logan pointed out. “With everything that you’ve said, it would make more sense if you were being hospitable to the new transfer. Given her circumstances I’m sure her parents are not joining in the… less morphic potluck that seems to go on.”

“You’re right on that one.” Patton sighed explosively, almost guiltily. “No, they’re glad they don’t have to lock her in the basement, and they were more than willing to move here so she’d be safer, but they don’t _get_ it. They’re really uncomfortable with the whole thing, even though they’re trying. I feel bad for Lori, I really do but...” 

“But?” Logan asked, after Patton didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“I think… I think Papa’s hoping that we’ll be a _thing_. He’s really encouraging me to spend time with her. I mean, I get it, our family’s been in Packston since it was founded. We’re a real shifter family. There’s been at least one a generation for as far back as we have records, all recorded in the family Bible and everything.” 

“Is that terrible?” Logan asked, and Patton rolled on his back pushing his glasses up off his face as he covered his face with his hands. 

“I don’t know!” he whined. “Like I said Lori’s nice and all. I totally want to help her get used to life as a werewolf! But I don’t like the thought our parents talked about it, because they totally did! Like- they want her to get married off so they don’t have to worry about her, and if she marries a werewolf, then everything would be like, hunky dory!” 

“You’re both still teenagers. Any kind of even semi-arranged marriage would take place years from now.” 

“We’re both old enough if our parents are okay with it.”

“What?” 

“And werewolves can get _really_ attached _really_ early. When there’s lots of families in one area, childhood sweethearts getting married is like, super common and that’s adorable and I love it, but…” he whined again. “I could slip up during the moon and do something stupid. I just want some space right now. Especially given my problem.” 

“Problem? What problem? I mean, other than this imagined entanglement?” 

“Like I said, you haven’t seen me on the full moon.” Patton sighed, and pulled his hands from his face, looking over at Logan. “You know how I’m kinda patchy colorwise?”

“I believe the marking is called ‘piebald’ though that’s traditionally black and white not brown and white.” 

“Or ‘pinto’” Patton agreed, and grinned weakly. “Pinto Patton! Technically it’s a kind of albinism.” 

“Yes. Is this connected?”

“Sort of. So, you have seen other people do the” he wiggled his hand “Half-way thing? The ‘wolfman’ form?” 

“Yes.” Logan thought quickly. “However I haven’t seen _you_ do it.”

“I can’t. Not on purpose.” He sat up, curled around his knees. “We don’t know why. Dr. Weskie thinks it’s more likely psychological than physical, but there isn’t a lot of study either way.”

“I wouldn’t think so. So… ‘not on purpose’?”

“On the full moon, I do. Can’t change between moonrise and moonset.” he wiggled his fingers like a flourish. “Yay! Surprise!” 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Gosh, gotta be direct.” Patton bit his lips. “I wanna stay here with you instead of going out with the pack, or staying back with the denning.” 

Logan startled, sitting forward in his seat. 

“Is that alright?”

“Yeah. Anyone can spend the moon alone if they want to, just most people don’t want to. And I’m not!” he smiled brightly at Logan, then twitched a bit, head ducking. “Moon’s rising.” he mumbled. 

“Well then, I suppose I’ll keep you company tonight.” Logan agreed. Patton relaxed, and yanked his sweatshirt over his head, tucking his glasses into the front pocket. He offered the garment to Logan, who put it aside, almost missing the morphic twist that took Patton from gangly teen to a large, fluffy hybrid creature out of a horror movie. Logan didn’t have it in him to be scared. He knew those markings by now, and they said friend, even if the broad, toothfulled muzzle and sharp claws, combined with the inhuman mix of two things tried to make his instincts fizz. Besides, while this was the first time he’d seen Patton like this, he had seen others in the Cub Pack use the form to carry and break firewood. He’d even seen Mr. Aluet’s half form which was a great deal more nightmare inducing somehow. Patton stretched up, putting his foreclaws flat on the ceiling, then settled down to all fours, resting his head on Logan’s knee. While Patton’s animal form was normally not small, this was noticeably larger in all dimensions.

“There’s a chew toy in my pocket, can you get it for me?” He asked. “Need some stimulation or I’ll get the zoomies.” 

“What are the zoomies?” Logan asked, fishing out the twisted strip of rawhide leather. 

“I dunno.” Patton growled, turning it over in his hands. “They’re zoomies. Like your brain turns off and your only setting is ‘go’.” 

“I can’t say I’ve ever experienced that.” Logan hesitantly put his hand on the back of Patton’s neck like he usually would, and Patton relaxed against him, tail swishing on the carpet. The slight apprehension Logan had faded. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to having a predator in his lap at this juncture. But the half form invoked a much greater fight or flight response. At first at least. Logan picked his book up again, trying to figure out how to hold it and keep a hand stroking Patton’s head. 

Eventually they ended up on Logan’s bed, with Patton curled around him worrying at his chew stick, as Logan read out from the novel. The werewolf’s thick fur and body heat dispelled any early spring chill, and the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his body behind Logan was soothing. It was a little different than the quiet evening Logan had anticipated, but it was a quiet evening nonetheless. Thoughtlessly, he rested his head on Patton’s furry flank, eyes closing for a moment, before continuing to read aloud. He felt guilty wishing that this could last, that the calm, comfortable life that the Harts had given him in this century could be his forever, or close enough. 

It would be foolish to wish for it. He’d wished for something similar before, and knew that wishes could not come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a lot of time thinking 'some plot really needs to happen with Patton. I've got all these dramatic backstories for the boys' And finally I realized 'no, Patton's life just does not get that dramatic.'  
> bother me on tumblr, @thebestworstidea


	7. Chapter 7

Finishing up an entry in his journal, Logan leaned back and looked at his hand, stretching it out after a long bout of writing. He supposed he could type his thoughts out, his typing had gotten a great deal better since he first learned, but there was something satisfying about longhand. Perhaps it was a stinted place artistic influences came out of him. Despite preferring rational and logical studies, Logan was also sure that everyone had an artistic side of one sort or another, even if it was just an aesthetic arrangement of their living environment. So for him, it was expressed in neat lines of script on a blank page, cataloging his thoughts and memories. 

It was easier to track them once they’d been pinned to the page. Words were satisfying. It was a pity he didn’t have any real artistic aspirations. The idea of writing words as a profession was appealing. He could pen his autobiography if it wouldn’t be just labeled an off brand ‘Frankenstein’. Though he supposed it was outside of copyright. Logan let his thoughts stutter to a stop. So much more disorganized without the paper to support them. He hadn’t been able to sleep- at least not well. 

In his dreams, he would wake up, and be back in the theater; but the theater was boarded up and full of dust. Abandoned for a hundred years. 

In the office waited a skeleton, collapsed over a desk, like it was waiting for someone. But not for him. Dust was thick on the stage, and light filtered through it, but Logan was the only one who moved in the theater. He could watch himself in the mirrors in the dressing room, spotted and warped with age and disuse. Was it the mirror or was it him? Gaunt and ugly and moving stiffly. He stood center stage and wished for anyone. He missed Peirce. He missed Mr. Thomson. He missed Missy and Polly and the other showgirls. 

But they were dead. And making new friends wouldn’t change either fact.

He hadn’t wanted the dubious company of Dee after that dream. Better to stay alone. It had taken him hours to manage to record that dream, because his hands were shaking too hard to write clearly. When the dream repeated he only made a note of new things he noticed. It made sense. Content in his current life he could only remember when he was last so content. It was inappropriate to try and compare friendships. Logan felt that he had lived three different lives at this point. The life at his father’s house, the life at the theater, and the life here, in Packston. He spread his hands and looked at them, they looked the same as they ever did. Did he change? Or did only his setting change? He looked across the room to the dresser, and the mirror above it. He looked different. The shorter sleeves revealed a few scars, that were faded more to just shiny white against his pale skin, the short hair, the glasses. The abundance of food made him feel his face was fuller, but that might have been in his head. Would they recognize him if they saw him now? His first friends. 

* * *

_It hadn’t even been three years. Such a short amount of time. Ellie was visiting her sister when they heard. Ellie kept a vicious eye on her ex-employer, and had come to share gossip._

_“Finally marrying his fiancee, he is.” She sniffed. “After near ten years! Apparently he wanted to wait until he had his medical degree.”_

_“Someone gave that … person a degree?” Logan asked._

_“Bless your soul.” Missy laughed, legs draped across his lap. “You know well and good that with enough money and connections, you hardly need intelligence.”_

_“Intelligence he has.” Logan retorted “Compassion, however-_ **_I_ ** _have a better ability to interact with other humans on that level than he does.”_

_“I don’t know what’cr on about, Logan.” Ellie patted his cheek. “You’ve always been a sweetheart. Odd, but sweet. Better than That Man.”_

_“Thank you.” Logan replied._

_“I still don’t see why you won’t study diction, Ellie.” Missy pouted. “Between Logan and myself, you could polish your language up, and get a better job.”_

_“Doin’ what?” Ellie retorted. “Workin’ in a shop, no ma’am. I may be a maid, but I am better than that.”_

_Missy laughed._

_“Bein’ a maid is respectable work. Anybody can get at you in a shop.” The sisters continued to bicker pleasantly, and Logan just settled in listening, when Polly rushed in, hat barely pinned in place._

_“Missy! Logan! You’ve got to come to the theater!”_

_“What is it?” Logan asked._

_“It’s Mr Thomson!”_

_Mr Thomson wasn’t at the theater. Peirce was sitting in his office, sitting at the owner’s desk, head in his hands. The stage manager was trying to answer questions, but sounded confused. As they arrived, the crowd parted a bit to let Logan through before he had to push to get to his friend's side. Logan sank to the floor beside him, focused only on that, and not on the questions being asked and answered behind him. Logan coaxed Peirce to look at him. The magician looked like he’d aged ten years. When he saw Logan, his face crumpled further, and he put his arms around Logan’s neck like a lifeline._

_Mr. Thomson had died. It had been sudden and unexpected. But the theater was his, and with him dead, it was going to be sold, as no one in his family had any interest in continuing to run it. There was no guarantee that anyone would be kept on, or even if the theater would keep running at all. Mr Thomson had not gotten on with his family, and they returned the favor. As they sought a buyer, their solicitor had instructed the management to finish the current program, and not plan for a new one, and the profits from that would be used to settle the wages of the people employed there. The theater would then be closed. Peirce, normally a leader among them, was beside himself with the loss of his friend, and chaos was barely contained in time for the evening seating._

_The show must go on._

_And far too soon, the people Logan had come to depend on scattered, as show people did. He had a key to the theater, and a sketchy sort of ‘you’re the dogboy, you stick around while we sell it to make sure no one breaks in’ so for now at least he had a familiar place to live. But now he had to decide what it was he wanted to do. Until now, it had been enough just to live from day to day, reading books accruing knowledge and doing small tasks._

_He had knowledge, he had manners, he could speak and write in three languages now; but Logan had no idea where he could go or what he could do. Or even what he wanted._

_No._

_He could think of one thing he wanted._

* * *

In the back of the closet hung a garment bag, and a leather satchel. The garment bag held the clothing he had be found in. Well, what was left of them. The woolen coat and trousers had fared better than the shirt, and the waistcoat would fall apart if he tried to wear it. While he had recovered, they’d been carefully washed and dried and preserved. The leather satchel and it’s contents had undergone a similar fate. The well oiled leather had done it’s job to keep the contents safe during his long slumber, and they had needed almost no attention. 

It had been a while- years in fact- since he had thought about it at all. Logan traced his hands over the leather of the bag, then opened it. It was as organized as he had left it, with only the faintest stale smell of dust. Old books, not stored quite correctly. He separated them out, stacking them on his desk. Journals, loose papers sorted by subject and date and held together between pasteboard with string to keep them safe. Why had he kept them safe? Better to have tossed them into the ocean. Better to have burned them. Were they of historical interest now? Did it matter? 

He picked up a bundle and undid the string. The papers, crackling with age slid out into his hands, the top being an anatomical study, and from beneath that, a fading Daguerreotype of a dead body, spread open. Logan drew in a sharp breath through his nose. 

* * *

_Frankly Logan did not expect anyone to be in this part of the house, not with the Wedding celebration taking place in the ballroom, spilling out onto the wide green lawn and deck, bedecked with flowers and garlands, and equally fancy people in equally fancy dress, maids and footmen circling with trays of food and drink. That had been what he’d been counting on; that the distraction would give him ample time in the unused wing of the house the lab had been in. And it had! He had gotten into the house, and up the stairs and no one absolutely no one was in the lab or study, enabling him to take all the notes he could find, even the smallest scrap of information that might hint to the processes his- that Harold Alexander had used. He’d had all the privacy he needed, and more._

_Enough so he had taken the time to destroy anything that had anything to do with the experiment. Everything was covered with a sheet of dust, so it was plain that his father now had no interest in what he’d done. Somehow that was worse than if he’d tried again. Logan filled the bag he’d brought with him, and almost accidentally knocked over a piece of equipment he knew was used to generate a strong electrical shock. When it shattered on the ground, the destruction that followed was completely on purpose, if not particularly rational. Abandoned or not, there would be nothing left of the lab that had created him but broken bits. Formaldehyde pooled on the floor from smashed specimen jars containing things that deserved more dignity than he had the time or the emotional capacity to give them. He moved on to the study, gathering a few more papers and journals._

_The study escaped Logan’s anger; for the most part. Books deserved better treatment in his mind. In the master bedroom, an entire shelf of personal journals were tossed into the fireplace rather than even considered. The celebration couldn’t last forever, after all. His stomach turned at the elegantly made bed, covers turned down and surrounded with flowers for the consummation that night. As he stepped out into the hallway, he heard someone coming down it, and ducked into the shadows of an adjacent hallway._

_“Is someone there?” called a woman’s voice. “I saw you- what were you doing in there?”_

_To his surprise, Logan recognized the voice, as that of his father’s bride and a fit of whimsy took him as the footsteps continued down the hall towards his hiding place, quite bravely, all things considered._

_Stepping into the light Logan gave a half bow, hand pressed to his chest and Elizabeth drew back, surprised. She recognized him. Well, he was quite distinctive._

_“What are you doing here?”_

_“Is it so unusual for a son to be at his father’s wedding?” Logan asked. She didn’t answer. “You were never cruel, I think.”_

_“And you?”_

_“I do not care for it.” he scanned the hallway. “Are you alone, Ma’am? On your wedding day? Should not your husband be accompanying you to rest?”_

_“He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”_

_“I was not invited.” Logan confirmed. “You know what I am, do you not?”_

_The way she looked away from him was telling._

_“You should go to your nuptial bed, or better yet, return to the celebration.” Logan said, turning away, and stepping back into the shadows._

_“Wait!” He paused and peered back at her. “Why are you here?!” she demanded again, approaching him quite boldly. Logan touched the bag he wore. It was stuffed with every note he could find on his creation. He had ransacked both the lab and the study, tearing the drawers out and apart to make sure nothing was hidden._

_“To make sure any siblings I have are your issue, not his. Congratulations, Mrs. Alexander. And goodbye.” He was stopped by a hand on his arm. He stared at it as if it were a foreign creature. “Please do not touch me.” he said very quietly._

_“Did you really try to kill him?” she asked, her grip, if anything tightening._

_“Quite the opposite. Please remove your hand.”_

_Rising on her toes, she stroked a hand along his face. He turned his face to get away, only to be trapped by her other hand, soft in a satin glove._

_“I wondered. You didn’t seem like a violent man.”_

_“What are you doing?” his voice trembled a little, without his consent. There were amused shouts coming from elsewhere in the house. He had to go._

_“Don’t you know it’s good luck to kiss the bride?” she said sweetly._

_“Get away from me.” Logan pushed her away, and backed up- just as his father turned down the hallway. Whatever expression on his face made Elizabeth look. Seeing her husband, she turned back to him- and screamed, collapsing to the ground theatrically. Rather over the top, in his professional opinion._

_Logan ran._

* * *

“Logan? Are we gonna see you today?” Patton called hopefully through the door. Logan had been oddly pensive lately. There wasn’t any reply, like there hadn’t been the day before. There was, however, a crash after a moment. “Logan!?” There was a noise, sort of a moan. “Logan, I’m coming in!” Patton jiggled the knob, then gave it a lift and a hip check. That still opened the door, the same as it had when he was a kid, and hiding from his younger siblings. Inside the room was wrecked. The furniture was overturned, and the few pictures had fallen off the walls, dislodged by what looked like something hitting the walls. A brief glance saw a pencil embedded into a wall, and broken pens everywhere. Books and clothing were tossed about, and there were loose papers like books and notebooks had been torn apart. It couldn’t have been less like the order Logan typically kept the room in. 

“LOGAN!” Yelped Patton, dashing in. “Logan where are you, buddy?” There was a miserable groaning noise on the other side of the room, behind the upended bed. Patton dashed around it, and found Logan sitting with his back against the wall, head in his hands, rocking back and forth slightly. His clothes were torn, his tie missing, and his button up open to the waist, showing off the scars on his torso. He raised his head and saw Patton, eyes wide, and terrified, and not shielded behind his glasses. His mouth opened and the only thing that came out was a gurgling groan. 

“What happened, who did this?” Patton dashed forward, sliding to his knees next to his friend. Logan gave another uncomfortable sounding moan, leaning away and wrapping his arms around his head. Patton tried to pull his arms away, and suddenly he was thrown backwards, shoulder burning, a yelp wrung from his throat without pausing for input. He scrabbled backwards, a whine in his throat. 

Logan had _hit_ him. 

Not a friendly shove, or a companionable poke, but a blow that was making it hard to breathe from the pain in his collarbone. He whimpered, both in pain and fear, back pressed against the wall. He’d tustled as a boy, and was used to shoves and even nips playing as a wolf but he’d never been hit before. Not like that. 

“Ughhh huh hh huh huh.” Logan’s breathing was labored, and he looked like he was fighting himself, wanting to reach out, but not daring to. But what Patton mainly saw were the tears streaming down his face. He was sobbing. Patton instantly forgot his own hurt and scooted closer again staying low and unthreatening. 

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m okay. You didn’t mean to do that, did you?” 

Logan kept sobbing but shook his head a little bit. 

“Shh, shhh. It’s okay, it’ll be okay. Can I touch you? I should have asked.”

Another shaky groan, but Logan unhunched, stretching his legs out in front of him. Patton climbed into his lap, stroking his hair and his face. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, buddy.” He kissed Logan’s forehead, and stroked his hair, wrapping his arms around the larger man’s neck in a hug. Patton wiped the tears away as they came, resting their foreheads together. “It’s okay, I understand, you’re scared, aren’t you?” The tears came faster, but Logan’s expression spoke more of self hatred than anything else. “Shhh.” He learned forward and kissed the tears away tenderly. “It’s okay.” he repeated softly. The shudders slowed, and he smiled gently at his friend, faces separated by a few inches. Gently, almost reverently, Logan’s arms came up and wrapped around him in return. 

And then he was being kissed.

It was as much a surprise as the hit, but _much_ more welcome. 

Patton was seventeen now, almost eighteen and he’d been kissed by a few girls- and Sam- and a couple guys. And he knew he liked the latter more than the former. But kissing Logan was better than either. It wasn’t because Logan was good at it, it was desperate and it was emotive and intense, but Logan was as bad as he was. After a long moment they separated panting, and Logan looked terrified for half a moment before Patton kissed him in return, with a great deal of enthusiasm if nothing else, one hand in Logan’s hair. For a while it didn’t seem necessary to think at all. Nothing but each others lips and arms. 

“Patton…” Logan said softly, touching the boy’s face gently. The word came to him, and he repeated it. “Patton.”

“That’s my name.” he breathed, lips shiny and swollen from kissing. He stroked Logan’s hair back from his face. “You okay, Logan?”

“I... “ he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I am better? … I think?” He buried his face in Patton’s neck. “I thought I was better. I’d only had one slight instance since I woke up. But nothing worked, the words wouldn’t come. I could feel them, they were all tangled up, and no matter what I did. I couldn’t put them in order, I couldn’t make them make sense. I was trapped. I was so… angry.” 

“That sounds terrible.” Patton sympathized, still playing with his hair. As much as Logan was enjoying it, he made a note to cut his hair. He never wanted it to get as long as it had been before. “This happened to you before?”

Logan just groaned, arms locked around Patton’s back, comforted by the weight of him, and the grounding feel of his touch. 

“Sometimes, yes.” he admitted. “I don’t know why. It’s always been something I’ve had to deal with. My… father said I was made wrong.” his breath hitched. “He would know.” 

“No.” Patton’s voice was firm. 

“No?” Logan sounded unsure, unlike himself. 

“You’re wonderful just the way you are. If you have a bad time sometimes, that just means you have a bad time. It doesn’t mean you’re bad.” His pale blue eyes were very intense, and he licked his lips, glancing down at Logan’s lips before kissing him again, lips parting. Logan found himself responding, lost in the swell of warmth. It was … it felt like…It felt like when he lost his words, but in a _good_ way. He was just riding a swell of unarticulateable emotion. He was kissing Patton, a thought that he’d had several times before and it was real, and it was so good. No- Patton was kissing _him_. He pulled him closer.

* * *

_Unless he was called to the deck of the ship- usually to aid in hauling-, Logan kept with his pretense of stowing away, taking up as little space as he could below decks. The place he’d chosen tonight was apparently used for other purposes. He looked up from his contemplation to see two sailors tangled together, kissing passionately. It was a private moment. He should look away. It was nothing more or less than any other fornication. Watching their intimacy would be treating them as pornography. But he didn’t look away. Perhaps it was boredom. Perhaps it wasn’t. He watched anyway, biting his lips shut. It was different, it was the same. It was curiosity._

_The first time._

_The second time, he knew what they were going to do when they both slunk into the hold one after the other. He could pick up faint whispers, endearments, gasps. He shifted slightly, still hidden, so he could see the tender, desperate touches. What he hadn’t realized was that they had noticed him._

_“D’ya like watching us then?” The brunette looked over his lover’s shoulder challengingly, not releasing his grip on the other man’s shirt, words clear despite the plainly distracting hand down his pants. Logan gave a sound that was very close to an embarrassing squeak, and not much like an apology. He tried again, face warm._

_“Yes. You’re beautiful.” it sounded strangled, but it was definitely words. The blond laughed into his partner’s neck, hand sliding deeper. The darker sailor moaned for a moment, mouthing at his ear._

_“Sebastian-” he whined, and his partner gave another low laugh, and continued doing what he was doing, the edge of his pants pushing down, baring a strip of skin. Logan realised he was staring and looked away._

_“My apologies, Mr. Theodore.” he choked out. “I didn’t mean to intrude, I just…” he wasn’t sure what to say._

_“Bastian says you can watch if you want.” his fingers worked into the long blond pigtail of hair. Sebastian turned his face just enough to grin at Logan in a way that made a surge of heat go through him. So he watched, and it felt a bit like hunger. The way they moved together and kissed made him think of how Peirce had held Mr. Thomson’s hand so tightly, and how he had faded without him. They kissed like Missy and Polly. Watching them was as good as anything he had done before, making his body and heart burn._

_The third time they had pulled him in, and it had been so very good._

* * *

He couldn’t pull away far with his back against the wall, but he did, breath coming so quickly, and body burning with desire.

“What am I doing, I shouldn’t be doing this- we shouldn’t be doing this, I don’t even know how old I am, and you’re-” Patton put his hand over Logan’s mouth.

“How about instead of panicking, we _don’t_ stop doing this?” he suggested gently. He let out a slow breath, and shifted in place where he was straddling Logan’s legs, and licked his lips. “We just don’t… do anything else. For now.” He slid his hand away. “Because I don’t want to stop kissing you, Logan. I like it a lot. You’re irri-kissable.”

“I’m going to kiss you again, so you don’t try and make more puns.” 

“Oh good, I wouldn’t want to be kissing out.” he giggled breathlessly.

Logan made good his threat, and Patton curled his arms back around his friend's neck happily. Did this make them boyfriends? He hoped it did. He’d ask, later. After they stopped kissing.


	8. Chapter 8

Winter had folded Packston in its enduring embrace. The nights dragged on. The days trickled past. They weren’t that far north, but they were north enough. Winter was a trial, full of wind, snow and low temperatures that Logan barely managed to control his distaste for. 

Patton had graduated highschool, and gotten a job in town waiting tables at the local diner. More notably, he moved into the studio flat with Logan. Logan had worried that Hannibal would disapprove, but the elder had just snorted as if it was no surprise. Of course, he had just intensified a relationship himself, and his current partner was pregnant, so perhaps he was just glad Patton wasn’t making rash decisions. Better that his eldest son be safely within arms reach. Though Patton sourly pointed out that nowhere in Packston would be out of his father’s reach. It only bothered him occasionally, when he was pulled in to babysit his younger siblings. In fact, Hannibal’s blind confidence that Patton would be there whenever he was wanted bothered Logan more than it did Patton.

However, Logan didn’t have much of a frame of reference for a healthy family dynamic, so he accepted it. Hannibal at his worst didn’t even approach Logan’s father’s behavior at his  _ best. _ The vague feeling of adoption only got stronger when his relationship with Patton was made clear. Logan tried to look upon this as more ‘father-in-law’ behavior. Elenore, Patton’s younger sister was both perceptive and understanding, and would step up to help if Patton already had plans, since Patton seemed completely incapable of saying no to his father, if the request was phrased politely. Going on a date was hard enough when the entire town knew you, let alone if it could be canceled because your lover’s father needed help fixing someone’s roof. 

Why Hannibal insisted on bringing Patton along was beyond Logan anyway. Patton was never going to inherit the contracting business. He hated power tools and couldn’t build anything much bigger than a shelf or a nesting box. Hannibal seemed to think that if Patton could lead the youngest scouts in crafts, he could certainly do anything. It was a curious blindspot. Jackson, three years younger already was more capable with power tools, and one of the twins was always hanging around when they did anything in walking distance. He wasn’t sure which one it was, or if they took turns. No matter how hard he tried, Logan couldn’t consistently tell the difference between Elizabeth and Victoria. He was starting to suspect that they were doing it on purpose. They certainly giggled together at him a great deal. Since Logan had been told that that often meant people were sexualy attracted to him, so he very much hoped they were just playing an elaborate prank on him, not that their budding romantic impulses had picked him, their brother’s boyfriend, as a target. Though he supposed that would be safer than some other targets. While Dee was their only first cousin, it sometimes seemed that half of Packston was related to the Harts. 

Logan had attempted to offer himself as a replacement for Patton, since he had a basic grasp on hand tools at least, and was generally considered quite strong, but it turned out that Mr Aluet had absolutely snitched on him, and Hannibal didn’t want him to aggravate his joint pain. At least that’s what he’d said. Jackson said it had more to do with Logan’s lack of large-scale hand eye coordination and balance problems made him a hazard to have around a construction site. 

In the meantime, Jackson was another ally for getting Patton out of being apprentice-pay labor for their father, giving Patton the freetime he wanted to keep being help for Mr. Aluet and the cub pack. It didn’t take long for Mr. Aluet to let Patton take over the younger cubs entirely, since he’d been helping since before he graduated. Logan meanwhile took classes online, paying for it by tutoring students and working at the town library, which gave him plenty of time and excuses to read. He suspected surrogate nepotism, but didn’t really feel like objecting. It wasn’t a bad life at all. 

  
  


“Is this what you want?” Dee asked. 

“I beg your pardon?” Logan asked as he passed the pipe back. Their late night meetings under the porch (or in the winter, in the garage itself) hadn’t been affected by Logan’s relationship with Patton at all, though Patton would sometimes stick his head under a pillow when Logan came back in. 

Dee waved a hand. 

“This; living in Packston. Is this what you really want in life?”

“This is not at all about the fact you covet the studio? I suppose I could find another place to live.”

Dee snorted, laughing a little. 

“Okay, no, I did have designs on that, so I wouldn’t be living  _ in  _ my uncle’s house for the rest of my life, but I’m serious..”

“Well, what about you then?” Logan challenged. “You’re the same age as Patton. You could be going to college, finding someone to love, creating a life, getting a job.”

“I draw furry art online.” 

“What?” Logan was fairly sure he wasn’t high enough to hallucinate, so that meant Dee had actually said that. 

“I mean, it’s weird, but it’s a career, and I’ve got savings. It’s just…” Dee waved a hand and inhaled smoke sharply, holding it. “If I stay like this, I don’t have to be an adult. Uncle Hannibal handles the bills, even if I contribute. I don’t have to keep track of when bills are due, or really budgeting; I’m part of the pack.” Dee made a face at that, but shrugged, tucking hair behind their ear. “I have a place. I don’t have to be part of the stupid game that society is. I can just be.” Dee handed the pipe back. “That’s enough. But I dunno. It doesn’t seem like what you’d want. Do you know what you want?”

“Patton.” 

“Ew.”

“It is merely what came to mind first. I would like other things; lack of joint pain, the ability to find the truth.”

“The truth about what?” 

Logan took a draw from the pipe to buy time, wondering what he had meant. 

“I don’t know. I think I could be very happy just learning for a long time. There is just so much to know! Or what if after I learned, I could teach others; or do something amazing. Like… go to space.”

“Spaaace.” mumbled Dee. “S’too bad humans are idiots.” 

“I have often thought the same thing.” Logan stared up at the ceiling, like he could see the stars through it. He remembered the last time someone asked him what he wanted, and suddenly the ceiling was blurry. It had been the last thing Peirce had ever said to him. Logan had tried to find him after he’d returned from his father’s estate, to see him one last time before having to flee the country, but the magician had pulled one last disappearing act, and no one had been able to find him. 

“Hey, hey no!” Dee was patting at his face. “No crying! I’m not set up to deal with your emotions!” 

“Am I?” Logan touched his face, and discovered that he was, in fact crying. He pulled away from Dee, and with a bit of maneuvering, pressed his face to his knees, or near enough that his folded arms could hide it. “I am sorry, Dee.” 

Dee gave his back a few gentle thumps and rubbed circles in it. Despite Dee’s claim, it was very comforting. 

“It’s cool, Logan. Was it something I said?”

“Not… not really.” Logan took long breaths in and out, but it seemed that now that the tears had started, they weren’t interested in stopping. How irritating. 

“Well, let it out, I guess.” Dee continued to rub his back between his shoulders gently. 

“Would you like, I mean, would you mind if I talked?” Logan asked, voice thick and strange with the tears. “I hear it can help calm down hysteric tears.” 

“‘Hysteric’?” Dee said, disbelieving “Just don’t wipe your nose on me.” 

Logan shakily began telling Dee about his time working at the theater. He hadn’t actually talked that much about things that had happened before. His origins were examined, but his life wasn’t in as much detail. Logan had preferred it that way, acting as though this impromptu trip through time was no different than immigrating, and focusing on building a new life. 

Finally he reached the end, when the theater fell apart, and how he had been in a similar situation of not knowing what to do or even what he wanted. By the time he got to that point, Logan’s tears had stopped and they were both just a little less high. 

“Bear with me,” Dee said “But I think you should probably think about this sober. This is comfortable and foggy, and I prefer to think about things like this when the edges are less sharp, but I think that you’d be happier to use your whole brain. Write things down. Do that thing with the pros and cons lists.”

“I don’t see how I can make a pros and cons list when I don’t even know what decision I am attempting to make.” Logan grumbled. 

“I’m sure you can figure it out.” Dee stood up and brushed their knees off. With a bit of difficulty, they got Logan standing up. “Go drink some more water, and get some sleep. I bet you’ll pass right out now.” 

“I do feel incredibly fatigued.” Logan wasn’t even sure if he’d remember this conversation in the morning, but for now, Dee had given good advice. 

* * *

  
  


_ They were off route, they had to be. There was no reason for the winter storms to be so fierce. It had come out of nowhere, and the captain had to make a decision. They could turn around, make port somewhere other than their intended destination, and wait, or it seemed more likely get trapped in the ice of the northern seas. It was no great decision.  _

_ Logan agitated in his place below decks. When he had chosen to leave the British Isles, he had been being harried by agents of his father, painting him as a criminal. Well, to be fair, he had broken into his father’s home and vandalized it before making off with his papers. And Logan supposed he had had a hand in the burning of his father’s townhouse. So he was a criminal, more or less. A private detective had found him and offered a chance to bribe his way free. Logan had resisted, and abandoned another attempt at capture. He had to admire these agents, as they seemed to think that they could subdue him. However they were why he’d chosen to leave on the first available ship heading to the colonies, even though it was starting late enough in the year that people said it was dangerous.  _

_ Sebastian and Theodore were also concerned, and of the opinion that the Captain was mad for taking this long to make a decision. The insight to the thoughts of the crew was interesting, though he had to wonder if they were just glad he was pleased to share body heat when one of them was on duty and the other was not. The other passengers, whom he avoided, were speaking as though the decision had been made, and talking about how they would find lodgings and if they would continue their immigration on land, or just find work and homes in whatever port they ended in, or even waiting for spring and finding another ship. They would be making land in the Canadian provinces, after all, and that was still the New World, full of new opportunities. But Logan was only looking for escape.  _

_ “He insists we’re on route;” Theadore grumbled. “But he did agree to head for a closer port.” Sebastian sighed, relieved.  _

_ Logan worried at the strap of his haversack.  _

_ Logan couldn’t shake the fear of being pursued, even though logically there would be no way for either word or a person to have gotten there before him, and he argued to himself, they would have no way of knowing which port the ship had put into, even if they knew which one he’d gotten on. But the last few years of drifting about had instilled a level of caution in him. Even if he was not on the passenger list, he couldn’t be seen exiting the ship. If nothing else, it would complete the illusion of stowing away that he had been maintaining. But how was the question.  _

_ Despite the cold, Logan stood on deck, looking up at the stars. The moon was brilliant, and illuminated the waves, and the patches of ice that scraped across the hull. Theadore had let Logan look at the maps and the charts the other day. They made Logan long to study how cartography actually worked, it was fascinating, and he’d only read a little about it. If he’d learned more, he could have gotten an actual job on the ship, or another ship, and sailed forever on a sea of stars. He looked up at the sky again, and saw the shadow of the lookout duck back into place. They’d been watching him instead. Logan sighed. While he had managed to make friends with Sebastian and Theadore, and the captain had accepted trade of his strength and most of his money for an unrecorded passage, but for the most part he unsettled them, and he didn’t know why. He always did. Logan leaned against the rail and listened to the ice scrape the hull. There were whispers. He could hear them. Logan looked down, and then up, to the west. In the distance, he could just barely make out tiny golden lights. _

_ “Land.” he whispered. Patches of ice floated, from the size of beds to the size of houses. They’d make port tomorrow, and he’d be out of time to come up with a plan. Then- a ridiculous, terrible plan came to mind. Logan ducked below decks, and got his satchel, and layered his spare clothes on before fastening his coat. It was a terrible plan. He jotted down a note for his friends. A stupid plan. He returned to the deck, and stared down into the sea at the hunks and sheets of ice. They spread out on the sea like a patchwork quilt, glimmering diamond and dark, deep water. He waited until the largest piece of ice he could see came scraping along the ship, and slipped over the side. _

_ No one called ‘man overboard’, and the ice barely creaked below his boots. In moments the ship had passed him by, and there was no chance of changing his mind. Logan looked towards shore, looked for another large, sturdy piece of ice, and dashed, and leaped and landed, skidding a bit on the packed grainy snow of the surface. His landing made it spin slightly, and crash into another. He leapt to the new flow. He could do this. The tide would even help him, drawing him in towards shore. Logan looked to the ship he’d abandoned only once, before dashing forward for the next jump. _

* * *

Logan woke up, clutching at his blankets, freezing cold. No, he was inside. It was dark and he could hear the central heating. There was warmth trapped beneath the blankets with him. Beside him, Patton mumbled something rolling over, thick flannel pajamas pressed to Logan’s. Struggling with the certainty of the cold of his nightmare, Logan forced himself to lie down, and pulled Patton close to him, tucking his chin into soft hair. Patton used a shampoo that was labeled ‘sugar cookie’ but mostly just smelled of sugar and vanilla. It was a cloying, comforting smell. Even in his sleep, Patton cuddled close, nosing against Logan, and licking the bared skin at the base of his throat. Logan tightened his arms around Patton, and tucked their blankets closer. He’d never disappear into the night again. The idea of leaving Patton even temporarily made a terrifying tight block rise to his throat. Even if he felt trapped by the town, like he was sealed in a block of ice.

  
  


Hannibal had asked Logan for help in his shop, and Logan was hardly going to refuse, given he’d been asked specifically. He was unsurprised to find that he was needed to lift a large piece of wood for a specialty carving. While in the warmer months he mostly did construction, during the winter, Hannibal worked as a carpenter- in addition, of course, to his place on the town council, and the school board. Perhaps the Harts were all just slightly hyperactive. Once the enormous block of wood was in place, Hannibal started walking around it, making marks with a pen here and there. A sculpture then. Logan leaned against another workbench, suspecting that there was another reason he’d be asked over; after all, Patton’s father could have done the same thing with a block and tackle. While lacking Logan’s advantages, he was certainly no weakling himself, not to mention his morphic abilities. 

Hannibal was a handsome sort of fellow, solidly built, with wide shoulders and a barrel chest rather than conventionally visible muscles like Logan’s. Though he had similar features to his eldest he was a bit darker than Patton in skin tone and hair color, with just a touch of gray showing at Hannibal's temples giving him the appearance of a man in his mid forties, but Logan knew that he was easily over fifty, the strange genetics of werewolves coming into play. 

“So.” Hannibal said, half hidden behind the block of wood. “I haven’t had a talk with you about Patton, have I?”

“I can’t imagine you didn’t know immediately.” Logan responded. “Even if Patton was capable of keeping it a secret, the shall we say, increase of contact to more than just friendly was probably evident.”

“Oh I smelled you on him long before the two of you starting fucking.” 

Logan’s face was pinched. He could wish Hannibal had a bit more tact, honestly. 

“It is an emotionally based relationship.” he said firmly. “Along with the rest.” 

Hannibal laughed. 

“I’m not going to stop you, Logan. You two can have as much fun as you want. I know you love him.” 

Now Logan was blushing, splendid. This was already worse than the conversation with Dee, and  _ Dee  _ had told him where to get a more effective lubricant than olive oil or lotion. Which Logan had thanked them for later, but _still_. 

“Becky’s coming due early spring.” Hannibal offered. “Patton’s going to have another little brother.” 

“So I hear.” How a man with six children already could sound so awed and pleased that he and his girlfriend were expecting was beyond Logan. People had children all the time. Often by accident. 

“We’re going to get the paperwork done end of the month. Have a little ceremony.”

Logan blinked, now that was fresh gossip. Becky had been a lone wolf that had wandered into town, and was probably half Hannibal’s age. Not that Logan had any room for commentary there, and it was apparently unremarkable for werewolves. 

“Congratulations. That should add some excitement to the month.” 

“Thank you.” There was a pause as Hannibal continued marking the block. “This is actually a good luck piece. Personal work.” He tapped the wood. “I have been wondering though, what kind of experience you have.” 

“I’m not quite sure what you mean?” Logan hoped very much that Hannibal didn’t mean what he thought he meant.

“Well, Patton’s young yet- don’t tell him I said that, I’ll never hear the end of it- and he didn’t get up to much in highschool.” 

Logan covered his face with both hands. He had never lost his words to pure embarrassment, and hoped that he wouldn’t now. 

“I did get tested, sir. Before we did anything.” 

“That wasn’t what I was asking, but good for you. We can get sick, but you know that. Lost a cousin to AIDS, come to think of it. You know what that is?” 

“I’ve read about it. All of my contact predated that significantly.”

“And that was with?”

“Friends. Some ladies, and uhm. Later, uhm. Gentlemen.” He could picture Theadore’s face at being described as a gentleman. It was equal parts amusement and disgust. 

“Friendly fellow then.” 

“Not  _ that  _ many, sir.”

Hannibal started laughing a bit. 

“Am I rattling you, Logan? Just a friendly conversation here. No need to get your ruff up. I’m more curious about lost loves, not what your pecker got up in.” 

Logan coughed uncomfortably. 

“I wouldn’t say I’d been in love before, if I had to compare it.” 

“Now that’s just adorable.” Swinging around the workbench, Hannibal leaned over and rubbed his cheek against Logan’s head affectionately, only made possible by the low stool Logan was occupying. Logan huffed a breath out awkwardly, as Hannibal followed it up with a rough tostle of his hair. Patiently Logan patted it back into place, as Hannibal walked around the block of wood with the impression of an artist. 

“So what do you think of polyamory?” He tapped on the wood with his nails, and made a few more marks. 

“In abstract?” Logan asked. 

“If that’s where you want to start, sure.” 

“It’s illegal in most of The United States, save in Utah, and that’s mostly cult related, according to my reading. Not really relevant for me as that’s solely for heterosexuals anyway.”

“Technically that’s polygamy, not polyamory.” 

“Oh. Right.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “I haven’t really thought of it, but…” He supposed given that he’d been involved with multiple people at once before he’d been polyamrous, but it hadn’t been like that. “I suspect it involves a great deal of communication.” 

“It’s another of those things that shows up in werewolves.” 

“You’re suggesting that I may have to share Patton at some point?”

“Hey, or you could find a girl to share between you.” 

Logan thought  _ that  _ was fairly unlikely, but this conversation was already more intimate than he wanted to think about. 

“Well, my first instinct isn’t rejection, so should it come up, I hope Patton and I can handle it well.” Logan offered. Hannibal nodded. 

“Might be good for you.” apparently finished with his marking, Hannibal picked up a small chainsaw, and Logan got up to go. He needed to put some time between this conversation and his mind. 

Besides, he agreed with Patton, power tools made uncomfortable noises.

And he was uncomfortable enough. 

  
  


There wasn’t an actual church-style wedding; in fact, the actual celebration happened on the day of the full moon, which limited the fancyness of the dress, and sadly, didn’t let the bride have chocolate cake. Becky slyly confided to Patton, and by extension, Logan, that she’d done that for an excuse to have chocolate cake whenever she wanted, knowing that Hannibal would be a sucker for it. She was a slender woman with strawberry blonde hair that was holding up her pregnancy well. She had the faint lilt of and accent from her original hometown in Tennessee, another shifter enclave. Flowbank if Logan remembered properly. He honestly had more of an accent, though he’d attempted to temper it. She seemed eager to have some sort of relationship with Patton.

“Or at least not be a wicked stepmother!” she laughed. 

“Well, you’re certainly taking a step in the right direction.” Patton said sunnily. “But most of us like you already, so it’s not a big deal.” 

“Most?” she laughed. 

“Well, Jackson’s at that age where he doesn’t like anything, so don’t take it personally.”

“Oh I remember being like that.”

“Well you’re ahead of me.” Patton grinned, showing a dimple. “I never went through that phase.” Becky laughed, and patted Patton’s shoulder. 

“You’re a good kid, Pat.” Getting up from the folding chair, she strolled back over to Hannibal, who greeted her with a kiss and rubbing their cheeks together. Logan checked his watch and sighed, seeing that the sun moon should be rising soon, meaning the reception would be getting a good deal rowdyer. A few parents were channeling the younger werewolves into another room of the rec center. 

“Would you like to join the-” Logan stopped suddenly, looking at Patton’s face, which still held a sunny smile. “Are you alright?”

“I do not like that woman.” he said brightly, in much the same tone he’d used to talk to her. “I never have. But there’s nothing  _ wrong  _ with her, and she’s really nice and-”

“Would you like to head home?” gently Logan stroked his hair, which had been clipped much shorter than Logan had ever seen it so he’d look neat for the pictures. 

“They’re about to toss the bouquet. After that.” Patton leaned over, hooking his arm around Logan’s waist. “I probably should go before the moon rises, though, because it’s absolutely not good manners to bite the bride.” Logan slid his hand down, hooking his thumb into Patton’s belt. “None of that.” He grinned up at Logan, and this time the smile looked right. “We absolutely don’t have time.”

“A pity.” Logan said blandly. “I hear hooking up with a groomsman is tradition.” 

“You’ve got plenty of time if you aren’t cowards.” Dee wandered over with a glass in his hand. 

Patton choked. “Dee! No!”

“I don’t think that would work.”

“Oh it works.” Dee said blandly, sipping at his drink. Patton swiped it and sniffed it. 

“I thought so! You’re underage!”

“Boring.” Dee grumbled. “What’s it going to do, kill me?” 

“We’re going to leave shortly. If you’d like to join us, normally I just read to Patton.” 

“How distressingly domestic.” He tried to get his glass of wine back from Patton and failed. “I’m older than you- have some respect”

“You’re only six months older than me, and you don’t respect anything.”

“I don’t respect uncle at the moment, that's for sure. She’s like what, five years older than us?  _ Six _ ?” 

“Hush. Papa’s happy. That’s enough.” Patton said. Across the room, the bouquet flew into the air. And the moon rose.

It was chaos, but Patton followed Logan out of the room calmly enough. Dee lingered just long enough to take some pictures before following. 

  
  


Patton was lying on the bed with his gameboy when Logan came in, seemingly lost in thought. There had been a seminar at the library about continuing education for the new senior students, and he’d been called on to help, despite feeling completely unqualified. The librarian was probably blinded by his score on the SAT to pay attention to the fact he hadn’t done anything with it. Well, at least he was familiar with filling out college applications. 

“I am thinking of moving south.” Logan said. It seemed sudden but Patton knew that meant he’d been thinking about it for a long time. “In the lower states, I would be in a better position to get further education.”

“Where were you thinking of?” Patton asked, rolling onto his stomach, and looking up at him. 

“Ah.” Logan blushed. “Florida. I am sick of winter, quite thoroughly.” 

“Florida, huh?” Patton rolled the idea around in his head. “We could get resident prices for the Magic Kingdom!” 

“If I got the right degree, I might be able to work for the space program.” Logan said wistfully. “I couldn’t go into space, I’m too big for one thing, but…” he blinked. “We?”

“Yeah, we.” Patton grinned. “You’re not going anywhere without me.” 

“But your home is here. Your family.”

“And I’ll miss them. But…” he smiled. “I’d miss you more.” 

“Your pack.” Logan pressed. 

“Shhh.” Reaching up, Patton cradled Logan’s face. “They are my family; but you- you are my pack now. And where you go, so do I.” After a moment, Logan’s face crumbled and he gathered Patton against him.

“I… I wish I was not so glad.” he mumbled into his hair. “I do not know what I would do without you.” 

“Well you’re never gonna have to find out.” Patton promised, squeezing back. “But I’m sure you’d do fine.” 

“I am not. I find myself quite needy.” 

“Nothing wrong with that, my Lo-ve. Nothing wrong with that at all.” Patton was smaller than Logan, but he made him feel safe and protected. 

  
  


Even though the decision was simple, the action was complicated. Both Patton and Logan had been saving, but Logan’s documentation was spotty and needed more effort, and they certainly couldn’t live in dorms, even if they got into a university. All of this required money, on top of school fees. Logan had some savings, but investment required more money than he had. It turned out there were subsidies of all things for werewolves who wanted to change territories, but that only really handled moving expenses and the first year- and only helped Patton. 

With his paperwork in order, Logan could apply for student loans; which he equated very quickly with a deal with the devil. 

Luckily, an alternative presented itself. 

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable with this.” Logan admitted. 

“Is it because I’m a witch?” Dandelion Walters asked. 

“It’s more because our name actually seems to be  _ Dandelion _ .”

“My parents were hippies as well as witches. Don’t judge. I’m mostly a researcher. And you’re fascinating.”

“You’ve talked to Doctor Weskie and Mr. Hart, you understand why that makes me feel a little nervous.” Logan frowned. 

“Ah I’m sorry. From what I’ve heard, you’ve had a hard time of things when you were young, and that was tacky of me. You don’t want to be studied.”

“Not in the least. I am, if perhaps not a human, a person, not a science project.”

“But at the same time you are also a scientific wonder. Or shall we say, an alchemical one.” Dandelion poured Logan coffee from the carafe on the table. 

Despite the dark tone they were having this conversation, albeit quietly in a corner of the Wolfpack Diner- Patton was even working the cash register at the other end of the room. The Walters- as witches, had moved into Packston in the late seventies, making a deal with the pack. Witches were one of the few non-shifter supernatural creatures werewolves trusted, and partnerships between them were almost as old as the allyship between crows and wolves. Some people even erroneously thought that witches could become werewolves. They couldn’t- though some of their children could be  _ both _ . Though given that Dandelion was dating Mr. Aleut, it wasn’t likely in this case. 

“I hate to tell you, but your father was not the only person to be given ideas by Shelly’s book. Given how it was written, there’s several theories about her having a vision of some sort, resulting in a fragment grimoire for the creation of well….” the witch gestured at him. Logan shifted uncomfortably. “However, your father is the only one I’ve found that  _ succeeded _ .” Sipping their coffee, the witch continued. “You might be interested to know that Harold C. Alexander didn’t accomplish anything else in his life, becoming a rather mediocre doctor depending on nepotism for work, and his direct line died out in World War One.”

“I don’t particularly care.” Logan corrected, though the information was interesting. 

“He did have a reputation for a certain madness, certain that there was a monster out in the world, intent on his destruction which got him put in an institution by his children after his wife died.”

“Very well,  _ that  _ is amusing.” Logan gave a smile. Dandelion grinned back. 

“I have lots of information on ways that it didn’t work. But I’m given to understand that you have information about how it  _ did _ .” 

“I do. But I have it so the experiment couldn’t be repeated. Why would I give it up to someone who might use it?” 

“The enormous amount of money I’m offering is one reason. But you’d also be putting into the hands of someone who doesn’t have any interest in recreating it; I just want to know how it was done. If I can learn that, I might have a chance of understanding how Shelly got the inspiration, and from there, I might have a chance of picking out other spontaneous inspired grimoires. Magic is a force, Logan. And sometimes it has flashes of near sentience. I just want to try to understand it. For all I know, your father had a spark of it that enabled him to make the jump needed to make it work. You don’t have any interest in what you have personally, only in keeping it from other people.”

“That’s true.”

“If that’s true, why haven’t you destroyed it?”

Logan stiffened, and his hand jerked, spilling coffee over the table. Both he and Dandelion grabbed handfuls of paper napkins and wiped it up, which gave him time to think.

“... I don’t have an answer.” he said at last. “I think… part of me thinks that knowledge shouldn’t be destroyed, even if it shouldn’t be shared.” Logan looked over as Patton was seating a couple of people who looked like they’d come off the highway looking for something to eat. 

“Logan.” the witch said. “I don’t have to be a seer to know you’ve already made up your mind.”

His attention snapped back to Dandelion. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have brought it with you.” 

Logan’s hand dropped to the haversack beside him, touching the old leather. 

“I don’t have many resources at my disposal. Hannibal seems to trust you, as do most of the elders of the pack, Mr. Aleut- who may be a trifle biased,- and Doctor Weskie, who trusted you enough to share my story with you in the first place.” 

“I really like to think of it more as helping each other.” Dandelion shrugged. “In a way we’re both fueling a thirst for knowledge.” 

“That does make it seem more appealing.” 

“I have two other things to offer you; besides the previously mentioned money.” Dandelion reached into their bag and pulled out a piece of parchment, unfolding it and smoothing it between them. Logan stared down at it and then looked up at the witch

“I have no idea what this means.”

“It’s a sigil, Logan. A promise that I will not share or use the information you give me. A magically binding contract.” 

“I see.” 

“I put my thumbprint here, in blood, and you put yours there, and if I break my word, well. My magic would break and my blood would solidify in my veins.” 

“That does sound like an effective deterrent, yes.” Logan stared at it, trying to pick symbols out of the looping sigil. It certainly looked like a magical circle. “Why do you need my blood?”

“Sadly, bindings like this work two ways, I need someone else to hold the other side of the contract.” 

“That seems fair. What’s the other thing?”

“A lot more mundane, and I’d give it to you even if you decided not to take my offer. I have a friend; a fellow witch who lives in Florida. He’s young and he could use friends. He’s an experimenter, and all he wants to do is help people. He’ll help you too if you let him.” Dandelion slid a business card across the table. “You pick a school, and he’ll find you two a place nearby that will meet most of your needs.” 

“Do we need a witch for that?” Logan asked. 

“Well, no. But I’m serious about the friend thing; I met him online, and he’s kind of a handful.”

“Can you really volunteer his labor?”

“He’d probably help you if you just ran into him; mostly what I’m offering is an introduction. He might even be able to help you with finding the right school.” 

Logan thought it over one final time, then nodded and offered his hand.

“We have a deal.” 

Dandelion took it and shook.

“Wonderful!” They pulled a pair of medical lancets and bandaids out of their bag, then what appeared to be a checkbook, which they handed over to Logan. “This is for you. We’ll need to go to the back together to get my name taken off the account and make sure everything is in order, but this is a good place to start.” Logan opened the booklet and stared with stunned gravity at first, his name ‘Logan Croft’ on the account; and secondly, the number of zeros. 

“How?” he asked. 

“It’s set up like a college fund or an inheritance. Since your paperwork says you’re turning twenty one soon, that’s the easiest way to get you this kind of money. Once we change the kind of account; you’ll be able to use it normally, and I’ll be able to transfer the rest in.” Dandelion handed him one of the lancets, which he’d seen used when he’d volunteered at a blood drive. With his improved paperwork presence (he had a social security number now; status as an American citizen born abroad,  _ none  _ of which was true) he’d be able to give blood if he wanted to. 

However, given the amount of tests the blood was subject to that was probably not a good idea. 

Logan pricked his thumb, managing no to wince, and Dandelion did the same thing. Using his forefinger, he copied the witch’s movement, spreading blood over his fingertip until he could press an imprint of his thumbprint to the place they indicated. He watched with interest as Dandelion did the same thing in a different point, and the lines on the page wiggled and changed, making it look as though they were locking the thumbprints in place. He blinked a few times, then picked up the leather satchel, and offered it to Dandelion. 

“This has all the information I have, as well as a series of journals that recount everything I remember, mostly until my ah… ‘power nap’ but a few things I have noted since then.” 

“You don’t want anything from it?” Dandelion asked, as they set it next to themselves on the booth seat. “I mean, this is your link to your past.” 

“If I need to know anything, I can get in contact with you.” he slid the business card into the account book, and ran his fingers over the cover. “I am much more concerned with my future right now.” He tucked it into his shirt pocket. “And if you find anything that may be important to my health, you’ll be in contact?” 

“Yes.” the witch promised. “I told you all my credentials, right?” 

Logan didn’t understand half of them, being related to Dandelion’s reputation as a witch, but he did understand that they were the nurse practitioner at Doctor Weskie’s clinic, and they held certifications in medical research, though not a doctorate. Which given everything else on their plate made a certain amount of sense. 

“Then I think I may be getting more out of this deal than you are.” that felt a bit off, so Logan added. “If you have questions, you can email me. I probably won’t have clear answers, but I may have clarifying anecdotal information.” 

Dandelion smiled at him. 

“That’s good of you. We can go to the bank anytime.” 

Logan nodded, and got Patton’s attention. 

“Let’s get this all settled.” 

  
  


Patton ended up making closer friends with the witch in Florida- exchanging emails back and forth over the next few months. Logan still felt kind of stiff in social situations, and making friends was as difficult for him as it was easy for Patton. But Dr. Picani was able to help them, giving them the chance to move together, instead of one of them going ahead. 

Hannibal was somewhat less sanguine about them moving cross country, but when he saw how much Patton had his heart set on it, he let it go. They rented a trailer, hooked it up to the SUV that Patton had saved for in highschool, said their goodbyes and left Packston behind. 

Frankly, even Patton’s plushie collection could have very well been shipped, and the truck sold, enabling them to fly down, but Patton had excitedly planned a route that hit some attractions he’d always wanted to see. They’d been on the road for days before Logan realized how badly Patton had wanted to leave, his pack aside. He didn’t think Patton realized, and made up his mind not to mention it, as he sent postcards from every location they visited. The long drive down the coast- the giant forests, Las Vegas (neither of them cared for that) Yellowstone Park, the Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore (Logan was not impressed) and they even swung through Flowbank, visiting Becky’s family with baby pictures of Patton’s youngest sibling Lee. It had taken a bit of planning, but they arrived there in time to spend the three days of the full moon in the other werewolf town, which was a different experience. 

Though he’d been unsure before, Logan thought that the road trip was a good idea; giving them a look at the world outside of Packston, and to Logan, a look at the world as it was now, gently easing them into cities and larger towns. Packston hadn’t been too small, with over a thousand residents, but numbers did not prepare either of them for how many  _ people  _ there were. 

Then, finally, they arrived at their destination. Patton excitedly greeted Dr. Picani for the first time in person, and he gave them the keys to their apartment, and then helped move them in, cheerfully talking about things that were nearby, such as his favorite pizza and Chinese restaurants, and occasionally mentioning things they should try. Logan was frankly kind of boggled by the amount of variety available. He hadn’t realized how used he had gotten to Packston. 

But his first tour of the University chased those thoughts from his head. This was so very much what he wanted. 

And now he had freedom, he had as much learning as he wanted to pursue, he had Patton and he was fairly sure he was going to live happily ever after. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not anticipate this getting as long as it did. When I started on this last chapter, I had one scene: Logan telling Patton he wanted to move south, which was one of the first handful of scenes I wrote for this story. 
> 
> Knowing this was going to end it, I had to give some idea how Logan got on the iceflow in the first place. The best answer was 'poor life choices'  
> Which if anything made it seem odder that he'd be willing to leave a comfortable, safe life, even if he didn't have many opportunities. By my calculations, they moved to Florida 2009/2010, so Logan could have been pursuing online college, however shifty that might seem. So I needed scenes to make them question; Logan wondering what he wanted; Patton's life being a little awkward (Patton not liking his stepmother is one of the worst things in his life at that point. some people just have nice lives.)
> 
> Honestly, Dee's presence in this story was an unexpected gift all around. 
> 
> Then I suddenly realized I had no idea what Logan and Patton did for a living at any point. Logan's just lingering in college, and is probably going to be encouraged to get into a doctorate program or something soon. And that took money, which they didn't have a good source for. And then suddenly I knew what had happened, and frankly, I think that's pretty interesting.
> 
> I actually went to google and plugged places in for their road trip down to Florida; which led me to staring at the wall and wondering where in Alaska is Packston? Southern Alaska. That's it. That's all I had. There is a great deal of Alaska, guys.
> 
> As always come and bother me on tumblr [thebestworstidea](https://thebestworstidea.tumblr.com/) Cast your vote as to who's history we see next! If no one asks, I'm going chronologically, and we get to see Remy trying to teach Roman English when it's not even his first language.
> 
> Better yet, request character portraits.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, feel free to find me at thebestworstidea on tumblr, and ask me questions.


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